Secrets

Chapter Eighteen Bloodtainted

William had been on Sateda all day with a science team, came back later than the rest, arriving through the gate long after it would have been dark on Sateda. Radek had been hanging around the gateroom for a hour after the end of his shift, running diagnostics and chatting idly with Miko Kusanagi. It was not that he was worried, of course. It was merely that the science personnel were still his responsibility, and if he needed to send Marines to the rescue, he would rather know it now than in the middle of the night. And now as the wormhole vanished again and the iris folded closed, he was prepared to be annoyed. He expected William could see it, too, and was surprised when the other made his way up the steps.

“Radek. I didn’t think I’d find you still here. I wonder if I might have a word?”

“Trouble?” Radek asked sharply. Things had been going a little too well…

William shook his head. “No. Or nothing immediate. Just — I’d like to talk to you about something.”

He smelled of woodsmoke and Satedan tea and maybe just a bit of Satedan whiskey. Radek frowned, but even at second glance William looked completely sober, just tired and a little worried. “Very well —”

“Someplace quiet?” There was a note almost of pleading in William’s voice.

“Very well,” Radek said again, and gestured for him to lead the way.

They all had their favorite lurking places: Atlantis was large enough, and their number small enough that it was easy to find privacy. Sometime, in fact, it was harder to find company, or at least the company you wanted, but William seemed to have found his feet quickly. As usual.

They stopped in a room about a third of the way down the central tower. It was bleak in daylight, looking out onto roofs and walls, no clear view of the ocean horizon, but at night the aurora played behind the buildings like sheets of cold flame. William waved his hand over the controls and the lights came on, but only dimly, as though to preserve the spectacle. A twist of blue-green light coiled lazily behind the closest tower, and a streak of purple crossed the sky toward the zenith.

“So,” Radek said, after a moment. “You did not bring me down here just to look at the pretty lights.”

“No, unfortunately.” William perched on the arm of the nearest chair, his face turned to the window. Shadows flickered on the floor, fell across his face. “It’s an anthropological question, really. Have you run across the term ‘Blood-Tainted?’”

“No,” Radek began, but even as he said it, a faint memory returned. “Wait — Teyla’s Gift? Something to do with that.”

William nodded, his face still to the light. “I spent most of the day with the Satedans and the Genii salvage team. Blood-Tainted is their word for people like Teyla, who can sense the Wraith’s presence.”

“Yes,” Radek said. “People — humans — with Wraith blood.”

“No,” William said. “That’s what I thought it meant, myself, but neither the Genii nor the Satedans have the scientific sophistication to recognize that this is a function of shared DNA. ‘Blood’ is metaphorical here.” He looked at Radek with a tired smile. “Only we were using the wrong metaphor. It’s not blood as in kinship, shared blood, it’s blood as in shed blood, blood as in murder and death. They — the Satedans and the Genii both — assume that any human who can hear the Wraith, who has Wraith traits, Wraith DNA, in our terms, is likewise a cold-blooded killer, a murder waiting to happen. To be tied to the Wraith in any way is to be a deadly danger to society. I think you see where that leaves us.”

“Damn,” Radek said softly as the implications began to sink in, and William nodded.

“My sentiments exactly.”

“Ronon has spoken of such things before,” Radek said. “But I don’t think it occurred to anyone that this would be a widespread belief.” He paused. “Or at least we hoped it was not.”

“The first contact was with Athos,” William said. “Where it’s a Gift, not a stigma — well, yes, it sets people apart, but look at the word they use.”

“You’d think more people would find it useful to know when there are Wraith around,” Radek said. “When a Culling was imminent.”

William nodded. “You’d think so. But maybe it doesn’t work so well in an urban population? It probably isn’t as useful — if the Athosians are warned, they can just scatter into the countryside, there are plenty of places to hide in the forests and fields and whatnot. But in a city, there just aren’t enough places to hide.”

“And too many people to hide,” Radek said. He dropped onto the long bench opposite the other. “And no good way to fight back, either. Yes, I see.”

“I wonder.” William looked back at the window, where new skeins of blue and purple and gold arced across the sky. “I don’t necessarily think that every serial killer in Genii or Satedan history had Wraith DNA. We’ve had enough of them on Earth to assume that it’s a human flaw. But part of the Gift is a kind of telepathy. I wonder if either they’re receiving images — hunger, satiety? — from distant hives, sensations that they’re driven to recreate? Or maybe it’s just having so many people around? Low level telepathy would make being in a crowd like a million fleabites.”

“Or maybe not,” Radek said, but gently. “Teyla cannot read human minds, remember.”

“That’s right,” William said, unabashed. “I forgot that.”

“It has made things interesting,” Radek said, thinking of Steelflower and Todd’s hive. “But Sheppard is good at pretending.”

“I would imagine,” William said, with a fleeting smile. “Still — why, on Athos, is this a Gift? Are there other worlds that see it as such?”

Radek shrugged. “You know I don’t know.”

William gave him an apologetic glance. “Sorry. One more item to research.”

“And perhaps more useful than ten-thousand-year-old prison escapes,” Radek said.

“Maybe.” William shook himself. “Still, I thought you should know about this. The more we have to work with the Satedans and the Genii — it’s likely to complicate things.”

“What doesn’t?” Radek asked. William was right, though. They were committed to supporting the returned Satedans and Woolsey was determined to preserve some alliance with the Genii, and if this was how their allies felt about people like Teyla… “What do you want me to do about it?

“I don’t know,” William said. “Woolsey needs to know, I suppose, and Sheppard, too — I suppose?” He smiled again. “Really, I think I wanted your advice.”

“I’m touched,” Radek said, his voice dry. “Yes, they need to be told, and yes, you should talk to them. Still — at least we have some time before we have to deal with this.”

John touched Carson’s shoulder, drawing him back into a corner of the room, leaving Teyla talking with Eva Robinson in front of the big windows. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Carson looked unhappy. “I’m never sure it’s a good idea, not since Kate got this brainstorm five years ago. But I’ve learned better than to try to stop Teyla when she’s got the bit in her teeth.”

Between the white couch and the windows Teyla was chatting with Eva, who had her crutches under one arm. She still had two weeks to go in the cast. Teyla didn’t look nervous at all.

“I can’t stop her either,” John said in a low voice. “But at least I can make sure she won’t try it on her own.”

“I’ve no idea what trying to access the genetic memories of a Wraith queen could do,” Carson said. “But I’m prepared for a medical emergency just in case.”

Eva seemed to have heard the last, for she turned around with a reassuring smile. “Possibly nothing will happen. We have no idea how this works. Teyla tells me that she understands that many Wraith queens have very little access to these memories and that they essentially impart nothing. Hopefully, we’ll do a little better than that.”

“I feel sure that we will,” Teyla said, lifting her chin. She came around the white sofa, sitting down on the other side. “If I could remember where Osprey and her people put the ZPM they took, perhaps it is still there.”

“And maybe it’s not,” John said. They’d had this conversation before, but it seemed like he ought to say it again for form’s sake.

“And maybe it is not,” Teyla agreed. “But if it is, and we lose the opportunity to find a fully charged ZPM…”

“I know.” John bent over the back of the sofa, leaning on his elbows. “We’ve got to try it.”

“I assure you this is a very safe technique,” Eva said, looking from one to the other. “On Earth it’s mainly used in a spiritual setting, for people who believe that they have past lives to attempt to recall them.” Carson snorted, but Eva ignored him. “Whether you believe in the literal truth of their memories or not, these things are powerful for the people who experience them.”

“Well, we want to know literally where the ZPM is,” Carson said.

“Carson,” John said.

“I know. I’m just here in case this adventure gets out of hand.” Carson raised his arms in a gesture of surrender.

Teyla looked up at him. “John, do you believe this will work?”

It didn’t matter what Carson thought, or at least it didn’t matter much. “Yeah,” he said. “I do. Whether the ZPM is there now or not, at least it’s a lead.” John stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s worth a try.” He gave Teyla a smile that he knew was wrong as he did it. “I’ll be right here.”

“I know you will be,” she said, tilting her head to the side with an expression he knew meant she wasn’t fooled at all by his nonchalance.

“Ok.” Eva sat down on the other end of the couch, arranging her crutches against the chair arm. “Teyla, I’d like you to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Just try to relax and let your breathing become nice and even.”

Teyla took a deep breath, her eyes half closed, her hands resting open on her knees as they did when she meditated.

“That’s right,” Eva said, “nice and easy. Colonel Sheppard, why don’t you sit down instead of hovering?”

“Oh, right.” John sat down on one of the chairs. He supposed leaning over the back of the couch was kind of distracting.

“A nice deep breath,” Eva said, “And then let it out. Then another. Just let go of all the stress. Nice, deep breaths.”

Teyla looked serene. But then, she usually did. She looked relaxed, her back still perfectly straight, her eyes closed. The movement of her chest was even and regular. She did controlled breathing a lot. This probably wasn’t scary for her, at least not this part.

Not like trying to teach Rodney to meditate that time. Rodney had flailed and fussed and complained, but John knew there was fear beneath it. Rodney had been scared to death by what was happening to him, by the weird effects of the ascension device he’d turned on. You couldn’t relax when you were scared to death. If this worked for Teyla it would work because she wasn’t afraid.

“Imagine yourself floating in a serene pool,” Eva said quietly. “Floating on your back in a pool in the forest, looking up at the light through the tree branches above you. It’s very quiet and very comfortable, very restful… Just let your breathing become very relaxed. Just let yourself rest in the serenity…”

His mom had been sitting like that, absolutely straight backed, cross legged on the floor, her palms turned up and her eyes closed.

The summer after the divorce he’d been at camp, eight weeks of basic training crashing into the Professional Officers Course, learning to be Air Force. There was a lot of running and physical training, but he’d been in pretty good shape to start with, so it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. There’d been some weapons training too, and that was actually pretty fun. The thing he’d loved was when they’d been taken up in real planes, just to get a taste of what it was all about. That couple of hours — maybe that was when he’d fallen in love. The Air Force had been a way to pay for school after the divorce, a way to tell his dad to shove it. He’d never seriously thought about staying in, not until he spent thirty minutes in the second seat of an F-15.

There was only two and a half weeks between the end of camp and school. It was just long enough to go back to Tahoe and see his mom, make sure everything was going ok. Well, as ok as it was going to go. He’d parked in the drive and let himself in, and there she was, sitting still as a statue in the quiet dining room, the table moved over to the wall, just her on the bare hardwood floor wearing a leotard and legwarmers like a kid. There was something wrong about that, about seeing your mom that way, every flaw of her body shown by the leotard. Her hair was pulled back in a pony tail, and beneath the platinum hair dye her brown roots were showing. Her neck was crepey from too many suntans, and her closed eyes were carefully accented with blue eyeshadow. “Mom?”

She opened her eyes, blinking. “John?”

“Hi, Mom.” John shoved his hands in his pockets. “What are you doing?”

She got to her feet and came to hug him. “Just meditating. I didn’t expect you for hours. Did you have a good drive?”

“Yeah, a real good drive,” he said. He didn’t say that the choke was acting up. He’d probably have to get it fixed after school started. His Air Force stipend would have to cover it, and if he told her about it she’d either pay money she couldn’t afford anymore to get it fixed or worry about him every time he drove. So what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Besides, he’d get it fixed in a few weeks anyway. “Meditating?”

She let go of him, holding him out at arms’ length to take a look at him. John towered over her by six inches now, which always felt weird. “I’ve joined a Buddhist group.”

“Um,” John said, “isn’t that…a little strange and New Age-y?” He didn’t know what she did with her time now that Dad was gone. He hoped she’d found some new friends and stuff. But.

“It’s not a cult, John. It’s a Buddhist meditation group.” His mother laughed, the creases around her mouth looking deeper than he remembered. “I’m doing some studying, getting in touch with myself and with my karma. It’s not anything bad.”

“Ok,” John said.

“So tell me about camp,” she said, leading him into the kitchen which was just the same as before. “Do you want some Crystal Light?”

“I don’t suppose you’ve got Coke?” John wasn’t sure how far this healthy living thing went, but after eight weeks of camp he’d had about enough of the no soft drinks thing.

“Just for you,” his mom said, pulling a 2 liter out of the fridge. “So tell me about the Air Force.”

He sat on a bar stool on one side of the kitchen island and she sat on one on the other side and told her all about it — about the drill and how there was this guy who didn’t know his left from his right and how people got confused about the different orders and didn’t know the difference between right march and column right. “See, if it’s right march you just turn right, everybody where you are. And if it’s column right the first row turns and then everyone else turns when they reach the position where the first row was when you called it,” John said. “It’s like for when you’re on a path and you want everybody to turn right when you get to the corner. So this guy, moron, he has us all marching along the path and instead of saying ‘Column right’ he yells ‘Right march!’ Which is really bad, because there’s this big rhododendron hedge along the path.”

His mother shook her head, smiling. “So what did you do?”

“Well, what was I going to do? The moron was telling me to march into a bush.”

“Did you do it?” she asked.

“Of course not.” John took another drink of his Coke. “But then I got pushed into the bush anyway because the idiot behind me did it, so he ran right into me and there I am, nose down in the hedge.” He grinned at his mother. “I should have taken marching band in high school instead of physics. It would have probably done me more good.”

Her face sobered. “John… I never thought you would need to do this. I thought we’d be able to provide for you. That we would help you get a good start in life. Of course your father could, but…”

“I’m not asking that SOB for anything,” John said, and for once she didn’t correct his language.

Instead, Frances Sheppard nodded gravely, her eyes on his. “I see that you aren’t,” she said. “I just want to be sure…John, are you happy?”

“Yeah,” he said, and meant it. “I kind of am. I’m good at this. I like this.” He reached across the counter and put his hand over hers. “Mom, don’t worry about me. I’m ok.”

“I wasn’t worrying,” she said. Her hand looked weird without a wedding ring. She smiled a watery smile. “I’m very proud of you. I know you’re only twenty, and I’m very, very proud of the responsibility you’re taking. I’m very proud of the young man you’re becoming.”

John swallowed. “You’re not upset about the Air Force thing?”

“It’s not what I expected,” she said. “Not what I’d hoped. But one thing my teacher was saying is that we have to understand that our children have their own paths. You have your own destiny, one I can’t even begin to imagine. And like all mothers, I have to find my peace with that.” She squeezed his fingers. “I want you to know that no matter how far from home you go, I will always love you. I want you to carry that with you when you have people’s lives in your hands.”

He swallowed again around the lump in his throat. “I don’t want to do anything that will make you ashamed of me.”

“I will never be ashamed of you,” she said, and her eyes didn’t waver from his. “I’m sure of that, John.”

John blinked, and blinking opened his eyes. The snow was swirling past the windows of Kate Heightmeyer’s…no, Eva Robinson’s office. Teyla sat on one end of the couch, her eyes closed and her breathing slow, while Carson was glancing through one of Eva’s books on the credenza.

Eva was still talking, her voice even and monotonous. She glanced at John as he started, gave him a nod. “…down a flight of stairs into the past. And as you go down, you will be going deeper and deeper into your subconscious.”

He had dozed off for a moment. Or maybe he’d been caught in it too. Kate had said once that he’d be a spectacularly easy subject, something he’d run from like his tail was on fire. The last thing he needed at that moment was another weird thing in his life.

The memory had seemed so real, so vivid. It had been like walking back twenty one years, like seeing his mother again, as though he’d really walked into that house that had been sold long ago and found her there. John blinked. Teyla had asked him about her a couple of times. She’d asked him what his mother was like. What she’d think of her. John had mumbled and said he didn’t know, and it wasn’t important anyhow. Frances had died when he was twenty-five.

He should tell Teyla, he thought. He should tell her that his mother would have loved her.