10,000 Year Old Plants
10,000 Year Old Plants
"Excuse me, Major Sheppard, sir?"
John Sheppard turned, eyeing the young marine standing in his doorway. The kid couldn't be older than 18 or 19—which made John wonder exactly what qualified him to go on an intergalactic space mission. It wasn't like the military pitched that in the brochure.
"Yeah?"
The marine stiffened, looking a little put off. It took John a moment to remember he was the reason why.
Right, head of the military command. That's gonna take some getting used to.
"What is it, lieutenant?"
"Sir, Dr. Grodin is asking to speak with you."
Grodin? Right…the command and gate tech. "Where at?"
"He's in the control room, sir."
"Thank you."
The marine hesitated; John sighed, giving him a salutary wave. The kid clicked his heels together and vanished, P-90 jangling in his effort to get away.
He watched the young marine go, a sinking feeling in his chest. He might have to talk with Doctor Weir about the whole command thing. John would never consider backing out of his duties, and he knew Weir had weighed the decision to place him in this position carefully—but titles and rank weren't going to change the minds of the marines who had loyally followed Sumner. He'd won some of their respect during the Wraith rescue mission, and again during the incident with the darkness entity a few days ago, but he still had a long way to go in proving he was capable of filling their former commander's shoes. If the marines didn't trust his judgment the situation would never work.
His tac vest was hanging on a makeshift hook he'd found on one of the walls; he shimmied it on, running a quick hand through his hair. Apparently the Ancients who'd constructed the city had never had vanity issues; he'd yet to find an appropriate mirror anywhere in the vicinity, though he wasn't sure it would do any good.
The control room was just a short jog from his quarters in what the marines had taken to calling 'the Tower'. In the center of it stood the gateroom, high above Atlantis proper, its massive namesake standing tall upon the slightly raised dais it rested upon. He nodded at the two marines positioned at sentry duty; they returned the nod respectfully, but with caution, as though they didn't know quite what to make of him. He didn't blame them—he still didn't know what to make of him, either.
"Major!" trilled Grodin from the landing that lead to the control room's panel area, his British accent echoing through the gateroom. "I have a favor to ask of you."
John threw him a casual grin, trotting up the stairs. "No more children gone missing or large, intangible fog monsters on the loose, I hope."
Grodin laughed softly. "Not this time, Major. Something slightly more mundane and not as enjoyable, I'm afraid."
"What could be less enjoyable than fighting off a cloud of killer smoke?"
"De-potting ten-thousand year old plants?"
"De-whatting plants?"
Grodin gestured towards the wall, where what could only be described as a sconce hung decoratively against it. Above the dimly lit bulb, in a container that was about the size of a normal pot, was a bristly, brown thing that looked like it had been through a thousand-watt sunlamp, heat stroke, and perhaps a radiation blast.
"Doctor Weir wants them removed," Grodin said, tilting his dark head slightly.
John frowned. And what does this have to do with me?
"As soon as possible," the tech continued.
"Okay…so…remove them."
"Do you have any idea how many plants there are?" Grodin gestured around. John followed his sweeping motion, noting the numerous sconces in the control room area alone. "There is no way we can establish all the connections we need to use our equipment to run the base and clean out the plants at the same time."
"What exactly are you getting at, Grodin?"
"Doctor Weir would like the military to do it."
John threw him what he hoped was an incredulous look. "You're kidding."
The scientist smiled. "Not at all."
"And what are you guys going to do while we're out de-planting…de-potting…whatever we're doing with those things…if another darkness monster—or worse, those Wraith things, show up?"
"It's not my call, Major," Grodin said, shrugging. "It's her request."
"Well, then…let's just go have a discussion about that request," John replied tersely, glancing across at the glass-paneled room Weir had designated her office. It appeared empty. "Where is she?"
--\--
The balcony doors slid open with a rush; John still wasn't used to the automated systems that seemed to react to his every move and thought. He knew he had it better than some; reports had it that on the first day after the rising, Rodney McKay had been trapped in a small storage closet for the better part of three hours thanks to the fact no one with the Ancient gene had activated the panels on his side of the door.
John was sorry he'd missed it.
He found Weir balanced precariously against the tilted ledge of the balcony, one leg propped up for resistance on the silver railing, yanking at the potted remains of a brown, withered tree. She turned at the sound of the door, re-adjusting her grip for a moment and wobbling with the effort. He took a step forward, arms raised, though he wasn't sure how effective he would be if she suddenly went sailing backwards.
"Hello, Major!" she said energetically, pulling with a final vigor at the tree trunk. It loosened a little, tipping over the ceramic pot and sliding back into Weir's arms, causing her to stumble. He darted forward quickly, catching hold of the tree and hauling them both them away from the ledge.
She staggered, reclaimed her balance, then set the trunk down of the floor and turned. "Thanks."
"You do realize that throwing yourself off the Tower balcony is probably not advisable command procedure under SGC guidelines, don't you?"
Weir cocked an eyebrow at him. "Well, since I don't answer to the SGC, it wouldn't be much of a problem, would it? Plus, there's the fact that we can't dial Earth, so reporting it might be a bit difficult."
"There's that…" he replied, watching her expression carefully. She seemed like she was joking with him, but he could never be sure with her. John could usually read people pretty well, but Weir was someone who had thrown him for a loop from day one. Not as a leader—her capabilities there had already been tested and proven—but her attitude away from command completely confused him. At certain times she was entirely professional, and then, at others, she dropped her air of authority just enough to seem almost…friendly, as though she was talking to him on a personal level. She took the same position with McKay and some of the other expedition members—but they were civilians, after all, and most of them she'd known much longer. With him it was…different.
She'd returned to the tree trunk, and was now wriggling it out of the large ceramic pot. He watched her for a moment, then bent to hold the jar steady while she pulled.
"Thanks," she said after a moment, pushing back her hair and leaving a dirt stain along her cheekbone. "So what brings you out here, Major?"
"Well, we need to talk."
"Really? What about?"
"Actually…this."
She paused, glancing around. "The balcony?"
John smiled wanly. "Not exactly. Grodin told me you requested help with the plants."
"Ah, right. The plants. I presume you want to know why," she resumed pulling, the effort adding a little strain to her voice, "I requested the military to help clear them away. Well, someone has to do it. Look at them. I'm still trying to figure out how something this old is still even around."
"Maybe the Ancients used really good fertilizer."
She tossed him a disbelieving smile. "That was McKay's theory."
"See, we might be on to something."
"Whether you are or not, it doesn't change the fact that they're dead and need to be removed. They're a bit of a hazard, they're messy, and let's face it—they're not the most attractive wall decorations."
"Look, Doc, on the issue of aesthetics you won't find me disagreeing with you. But ripping ferns from the wall isn't exactly on our list of standard security protocols."
"I don't think half the things you do here is on the list of standard security protocols. Clearing out the plants isn't going to pose a threat to anyone on the base, Major."
"True," he replied. "But I'm pretty sure that gardening is not counted among the activities expressly required by the Armed Forces, no matter what galaxy you're in."
Weir released the tree slowly, and then rose, pulling herself to full height. "So that's what this is about. You don't think the marines' job extends to clearing out houseplants?"
He rose in response, flashing her his most charming smile. "It's not the actual work, it's…more…"
"More what?
"The, uh, principle."
"The 'principle'?"
"Yeah…what if something should happen, for instance, while we're in the process of playing Home and Garden?"
"Something like what?"
"What if the Wraith attack, for starters?"
She grinned and bent back down to the tree. "If the Wraith attack, we're going to be in trouble whether you men are pulling plants from pots or are standing armed and ready at ever post."
"Well, then, what about that Darkness monster thing let loose a few days ago? We don't know whether there are other things like that floating around the city."
"I agree. But as we've suspended exploration into the city for the time being, and restricted access to everything but the areas that have been swept and deemed 'safe' by your teams, hopefully we won't be running into anymore of those, at least in the next few days."
John grimaced. "Look, I know you think you've got most everything under control…"
She kicked at the pot, straining a moment, and laughed harshly. "Right. We've got no power, no weapons, an enemy that defeated the Ancients loose in the galaxy, limited supplies, tension with our native guests, and laboratories full of dangerous and potentially deadly experiments just waiting for someone like Rodney McKay to find and unleash." She looked up at him, her green eyes wide and disbelieving. "Completely under control."
"Okay, well, maybe control's not the best word, but at least stable. And all those things you have to worry about are exactly why the marines can't be playing house at the moment. They're needed at their posts, doing their jobs."
"Do you know who Kate Heightmeyer is?"
"Who?" he asked confusedly, thrown by the sudden switch of subjects.
"Doctor Kate Heightmeyer."
The name sounded familiar… "One of the expedition scientists?"
"Good guess. She's the expedition psychologist."
"Oh." John frowned. He had an idea where this was going. "She worried about me?"
Weir looked at him strangely for a moment. "No. She's worried about the stability of the expedition in general."
"Well, like you said—we've got creepy aliens with holes in their hands loose and weird Ancient experiments trying to eat you at night…I'd be worried if she wasn't concerned."
"Her concern isn't so much about what's out there. It's more what's happening in here. She's worried about the isolation some of the members are feeling—being trapped in the city, away from Earth, and unable to truly defend themselves."
"Isolation? Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't there a couple hundred people on this loose around here?"
"Yes…as an expedition there are a lot of people. But everyone is dealing with this new situation differently. They're isolating themselves, unsure of who to talk to, and who to take confidence in. Many of them feel very…alone. The ones she's worried most about are the military."
John raised his chin. "The military know how to handle themselves. This is what they're trained to do."
"I know that." She clapped the dirt off her hands, resting one arm on her leg as she turned to look up at him. "For the most part. But I'll bet that very few of them, even when they got the clearance to come, expected having to fight something like the Wraith immediately. Anticipating fear, even facing it like some of these soldiers have, isn't the same thing as being trapped out here, away from what they're familiar with. Even the ones who fought the Go'uld had Earth to come back to. Here, we've got nothing. It's got to be a little overwhelming."
"The men and women chosen to go on this expedition were chosen because of who they are. They weren't just trained to deal with stuff like this, they were built for it. They wouldn't have been allowed to walk through that gate if the SGC had doubted, even for a second, that they wouldn't be able to handle a situation like this."
"I understand that. But despite the military mentality and the passing psych evaluations, they are still human, Major."
"That's not the way they think."
"Really? You're telling me that no doubts every cross your mind? No fears? You've just got everything completely under control."
He straightened, watching her suspiciously. The young marine from just a few minutes ago crossed his mind. "Most of the time."
A small, slightly triumphant smile flashed across her face, and she grabbed at the tree trunk with a renewed vigor. "Well, for those few minutes that you don't, Dr. Heightmeyer thinks that a few mundane, ordinary boring chores might help normalize things a little bit."
"Look…"
"I'm not saying you have to assign a task force to remove them…or that you need to pull people away from active duty or even make this a direct order. But if you have some men to spare, maybe spending a little time with some of the civilians here and there will help them get to know the rest of the expedition a little better. Ease tensions with the Athosians. Maybe even get them to smile once in a while."
"They're marines. They're not supposed to smile."
"You certainly seem to."
He grinned. "I'm Air Force. That's different."
She heaved a sigh. "I just want to make everyone feel a little more comfortable. Is that too much to ask, Major?"
"Look, Doc, I understand where you're…"
"Elizabeth," she interrupted.
He paused. "What?"
"Elizabeth. My name's Elizabeth. Feel free to call me that. Or Doctor Weir. Call me Doc and I feel like I should be handing you a carrot."
"All right. Doctor Weir. I know you want to make everything feel a little more like home, but the truth is it's not. We're in danger and the last thing the military needs to be doing is giving the members of this expedition the feeling that we're not."
"No one doubts we're in danger, Major Sheppard. Everyone who volunteered for this expedition knows there is a chance they aren't going back home—soldiers and scientists. It's for that reason that we need to stick together. Get to know each other—learn to trust people—military and civilian alike. People need to know who they're protecting, who they're trying to save, why they're placing their lives on the line day after day. If they don't, we really won't survive."
John studied her face for a moment, intent on the task at hand. She seemed complacent, but there was an expression there, one that wavered somewhere between stern and understanding. He knew based on her background that she'd been involved in some of the roughest treaty negotiations on Earth—he wondered if this was how she'd managed them, alternating her authority with her humanity.
"After all," she replied, giving the tree a few sharp tugs, "it's not like I'm asking you to do something…I'm…not…doing…myself."
The tree's roots pulled free of the pot, the force sending a shower of dirt across the balcony and knocking her off balance, straight on her backside. John stared, shocked, as struggled to regain her footing, legs sprawled across the floor, dirt and plant parts littering the ground around her. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine. I…" as she looked up at him, slightly bewildered, he couldn't help himself.
He laughed.
Weir cocked an eyebrow, rising up on one elbow. "Well, I'm glad someone finds this funny."
He offered her an arm up, still smiling, which she took, dusting herself off as she pulled to her feet. His smile faded as she released his hand, her eyes intent on his face. The expression in them was serious. "I take it I'm not going to get your cooperation on this?"
"You really think that it's necessary?"
"I don't know. Military mental health isn't exactly my area of expertise. But Doctor Heightmeyer seemed genuinely concerned, and I trust her judgment in the same way I trust the judgments of all the people I chose for this expedition. Including yours, John. So whatever you decide for your military, I will support your decision."
John stared at her for a moment, feeling vaguely uncomfortable. It was there, again, that feeling that she could sense what he was thinking. "Let me ask you a question."
She looked puzzled for a moment. "Okay."
"What do you think Colonel Sumner would have done?"
Her eyes tightened, and she paused before she answered. "I think Colonel Sumner would have argued the same thing you are—that the marines are marines, and to suggest they should rip plants from the wall to calm their nerves would be ridiculous."
He nodded, leaning one arm on the balcony wall and glancing over the water. Colonel Sumner had been a tough man, and a proud one. A man as strong in his convictions as one possibly could be. A man who had garnered respect through his demeanor, by the way he drew command. The kind of man who would never allow any of his soldiers to be thought of as weak, or helpless.
A man who had died alone.
"I'll give you two details every couple of hours," he said after a moment, glancing back at her. "Just a couple of men a piece and they're to assist a larger group of civilians. The orders will be they're to 'help out', not that they're engaged in recreation. If they're needed for anything else, they'll be immediately called back to their duties."
She raised her chin, a twinkle in her eyes. "Of course."
"And none of this 'it's for the good of the expedition' stuff. I'm telling them they're being requested to do this because the plants are posing some kind of threat to the air quality."
"Fair enough. Anything else?"
"Just one more thing. No more shucking stuff out of pots for you. You've made a complete mess and are presenting a general hazard to yourself to boot."
Her mouth dropped open. "Excuse me?"
"Well, you did almost throw yourself off the balcony. Twice."
The door to the balcony slid open and Rodney McKay strolled out. "Elizabeth…" he stopped, taking in the mess in front of him. "What, do we have plants attacking people now?"
"More like the people are attacking the plants," John returned, grinning. Weir narrowed her eyes. "What do you need, Rodney?"
"I…was…looking…" he paused, studying the wreckage. "You really did a number on that tree, didn't you?"
"You were looking?" she prodded, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm…missing a few connections for the fourth naquadah generator—I think that little Czech guy had them…Zaruska…Zarconi…"
"Doctor Zelenka?"
"Zelenka…I'm going to have to remember that," muttered McKay. "Do you know where he went to?"
"Did you check the storage closets?" John asked.
McKay glanced up at him. "Oh, very funny, Major."
"I'm being serious, McKay."
"Oh. Really? Because I can't ever really tell. You ought to try acting more…majorly…sometimes, you know that? Otherwise people are never going to listen to you."
"Thanks for the advice, Doctor."
"Oh, I don't know," Weir responded as they headed for the doors. "Being authoritative doesn't always work. Sometimes you just have to talk to people on their own terms. Get them to listen in their own way. Kind of a 'Jack O'Neill' approach, you might say."
"Please! Don't remind me. I have enough problems without having to think about him, too."
Weir turned back to John, who stared at her suspiciously. She smiled at him, though her expression was serious. "This will get done today?"
"We'll see what we can do."
"I'm not going to be treated to a dead plant hurling contest this afternoon, am I?"
"Does it matter so long as they get removed?"
"Plant hurling?" McKay asked as he stepped up to the entrance.
"Keep going, Rodney," she muttered, waving him through the door. She paused to turn and nodded at him. "Thank you, John."
"Doctor Weir?"
"Yes?"
"It'll work out. Maybe not immediately, but we'll figure it out. We've got the right people making sure of that, trust me."
She stared at him for a moment, looking a little surprised. A smile grew on her face and she clasped her hands behind her back, calling over her shoulder, "I do, Major."
He watched as the doors closed behind her. The remains of her dead tree still lay scattered on the ground; he bent down to the tree trunk, lifting it with a little effort towards the silver railing of the balcony.
It hadn't been a bad idea, plant hurling.
He chucked it over the side.
It made a perfect arc towards the ocean, dust and ancient debris fluttering off the branches until a trail dried brown dust filled the air around it. It twirled downwards, disappearing into a tiny bit of nothingness, hitting the ocean beside one of the piers with barely a sound. He watched the water whitecap for a moment, then smiled. Not quite as good as a football, but almost. And he knew most of the marines spoke that language. He'd have to thank her later. If she wasn't too busy lecturing him, that is.
He wondered if that young marine who'd summoned him was still around. He'd appeared to have a good arm. It was worth a look, at least. Taking a last breath of the slightly salt-tinged air, John turned and walked back through the doors.