Trial Without Error

by Soledad

For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the Introduction.

Re: Bates' team. Smithy and Yamato are canon characters. The rest has been made up by me.


Chapter 2 – Reaction

When Sheppard awoke in the next morning (with a strange weight in his stomach), an e-mail was waiting on his laptop, asking him to visit Major Vogel in his office, first thing in the morning. He was a bit surprised because he'd never had more than the inevitable contact to the other military personnel of Atlantis. The small group of German Bundeswehr soldiers usually kept company with the European scientists and the civilian security team, with which they worked in tandem, and barely mingled with the Marines.

Accordingly, Major Vogel had his office – and his adjoining quarters – between the civilian and military wings, as the inhabited corridors were called, and seemed content with this arrangement. At least no official complain ever landed on Sheppard's desk, and if there had been any, they would have landed there.

So Sheppard could not imagine what Major Vogel – the only other soldier of the same rank as himself – could possibly want from him, but he thought it might be useful to find out. To his surprise, the guard standing in front of his door (this time the pretty blonde, whom her colleagues called Alex, he never cared to learn her last name) didn't object when he left his quarters. She simply followed him in a discreet manner – detectives, even former ones, did have that ability.

Even more was Sheppard surprised when he ran into Sergeant Bates in the corridor that led to Major Vogel's office. The sergeant, too, was followed by a civilian guard.

"What do you do here, Bates?" he asked, irritated for reasons he couldn't understand himself. The sergeant shrugged.

"Got an invitation from the major," he explained with a scowl. "Didn't look as if I could afford to refuse. Afraid we're in deep shit this time, sir."

Sheppard frowned. He knew Bates was paranoid, but…

"What do you mean?" he asked. Bates shot him an incredulous look.

"You mean you don't know, sir?" he said. "Major Vogel is the chief military attorney of the expedition."

"We have military attorneys here?" Sheppard frowned.

Bates rolled his eyes. "Sir, it stands in the Atlantis Charta. Have you never read it?"

Sheppard shrugged. "Never had the patience for legal stuff. Never needed it."

"You will now," Bates prophesized darkly and pushed the buzzer on Major Vogel's office door. "I've got a bad feeling about this, sir, a really bad feeling."

"Don't be ridiculous," Sheppard dismissed him. "What can they do with us? We are only two hundred people or so – everyone is needed."

But Bates shook his head, clearly troubled. "You shouldn't underestimate Dr. Weir, sir."


The door opened, allowing them into an office that stirred Sheppard's envy at once, as it had no likeness at all with the dark little hole he used as an office. It was airy and full of light, with an ocean view and a large desk – and a few potted plants that were actually alive stood in one corner. Probably a gift of the botanists. Being on good terms with the section of soft sciences obviously paid off, no matter what McKay said.

The man behind the desk matched the office. He was tall and ash blond, with that cold northern handsomeness that often could be found among German men of the Northern provinces… or among Scandinavians. His strong, even features had just the right hint of hardness to keep him from being too pretty, and his dark blue eyes mirrored strong-willed intelligence. He'd been selected for the expedition for being an ace pilot, an experienced attorney and having a strong, natural ATA gene, as Sheppard would learn later. He also spoke four languages aside from his own: English, Russian, French, and even a moderate Japanese. In his mid-thirties, he was the ideal choice to lead the European contingent.

And he was not alone, though the other man Sheppard did know. It was Petty Officer Jason Tiner, the Navy's only contribution to the Atlantis expedition. He'd served at the JAG headquarters in Falls Church, Virginia, before beginning his studies as a military attorney, and had just graduated a year before being selected as Dr. Weir's personal aide. She'd brought him with her to Atlantis for his experience with JAG as well as to placate the Navy.

Major Ralph Vogel rose from behind his decks when the two Americans entered. "Major. Sergeant. Please, have a seat. I trust that you know Petty Officer Tiner?"

"We've met," Sheppard replied curtly. "Now, would you mind to tell me what this is about?"

Vogel gave him a look that caused the temperature in the office to drop several degrees.

"This is about your upcoming trial, Major," he answered icily, his harsh German accent thickening with irritation. "Chief Prosecutor Kirkitadze has ordered an official hearing about the circumstances of yesterday's tragic events."

"What?" Sheppard glared at him in disbelief.

"There will be a hearing," Vogel repeated, completely unfazed. "And afterwards, there will be a trial. And you two would better consider what you'll be able to say to your own defence, because it does not look good for you. For either of you."

"That's ridiculous!" Sheppard growled.

"On the contrary," Vogel replied, "this is a very serious affair, Major. Dr. Kirkitadze has the authorization from each government whose citizens are involved in this expedition to act as judge in legal affairs that might concern them, according to international law."

"So what?" Sheppard shrugged. "He's not a military attorney. He can't do us anything."

The look Vogel gave him now was almost sympathetic. "You still don't understand, do you? This is an extraordinary situation. It was known from the beginning that we might never be able to go home, so Dr. Kirkitadze has been given extraordinary authorizations. Everyone on Atlantis is under his jurisdiction, be it military personnel, civilian or alien. Everyone. This is a civilian expedition, Major, and Dr. Kirkitadze doesn't take it kindly when the military acts against the civilian leadership. You should really consider how you're going to defend yourselves, because it could end… ugly for you."

"What are our chances, Major?" Bates asked quietly. After last night's conversation with Dr. Weir he didn't have any illusions.

"Slim," Vogel replied with brutal honesty. Bates closed his eyes for a moment.

"So, what am I supposed to do?" he asked.

"I can't give you any advice, as I'll be the prosecutor in this trial," Vogel said. "But Petty Officer Tiner has declared himself willing to take over your defence."

"You gotta be kidding!" Sheppard exclaimed. "Babyface here is supposed to defend us against a shark like Kirkitadze – not to mention you – in a show process? Just how old is he? Sixteen? Seventeen?"

He knew, of course, that Tiner was an adult, but the man looked so… so green, he was simply unable to take him seriously.

Which, apparently, had been a mistake.

"He is thirty-two," Tiner said snidely, "and he is a graduated military attorney. He had also worked for JAG lawyers like Admiral Chegwidden, Commander Rabb or Colonel Mackenzie – highly decorated officers who didn't thought themselves too fine to talk directly to him when he was present. But don't worry, Major; if you insist to defend yourself, I'll gladly leave you to your own devices," he turned to Bates. "Have you also a problem with me or are you willing to accept help from someone who actually does know what he's doing?"

Bates looked at the youthful face in which only the eyes were mature and experienced – and made a decision, right out of the gut.

"I'll accept every help I can get," he said.

"A wise decision," Vogel nodded. "Well, gentlemen, I'm going to mail you the official charges as soon as the document is composed. The first hearing will take place tomorrow afternoon. Until then, you're supposed to stay in your quarters, under guard. Food will be delivered to you, but communications to your quarters will be cut… except that to your defender," he glanced at Bates briefly.

"I'll visit you in the afternoon, and we'll prepare for the hearing together," Tiner promised, and Bates nodded miserably.

"That would be all," Vogel said. "You can return to your quarters now."


Everyone was a bit shocked when the official declaration about the disciplinary hearing appeared on every computer screen of Atlantis. Well, everyone who'd not witnessed Sheppard and Bates' blatant disregard of the civilian leader of their little community, that is. But even those realized how serious the whole affair was, when they saw that Sevarion Kirkitadze will be calling the shots. Major Sheppard's cocky flyboy attitude had apparently caused a legal case of international magnitude, and that was a pretty sensitive thing, even if it happened in the small circle of two hundred people.

"What's gonna happen to the Sergeant now?" Smithy, the simplest soul in Bates' team asked anxiously. Team #2 was having an emergency meeting in one of the empty halls, fuelled by Dr. Zelenka's moonshine. "Are we getting ea new team leader?"

"Unlikely," McKinney, who'd nearly lost an eye in Afghanistan and had been called 'the one-eyed sheriff' ever since, due to the eye-patch he'd to wear for months afterwards (not to mention his startling resemblance to John Wayne) shook his massive head. "There are too few of us here. Everyone is needed. And Gene is the most experienced of us all."

"Besides," Toussaint, one of the few survivors of a secret mission in Belize that went horribly wrong, added, "only a military court could strip him from his rank."

"Perhaps," Yamato, deceivingly slender like a young girl and absolutely deadly in unarmed combat, said pensively. "But Eddie says Dr. Weir was royally pissed at both the Sergeant and Major Sheppard. She's already chewed the major a new one, but it seems she's not half done yet."

There was a collective frown. They'd all figured out by now that Yamato was gay and that he'd a thing going on with the cute Gate technician Eddie Wong, but they never spoke about it. Unlike the brass back home, they didn't care whom Yamato tupped in his spare time, as long as he watched their sixes. Which he always did, and no, not that way, thank you very much. He as a highly trilled killing machine and two hundred per cent reliable, capable of kicking their collective asses during training, and that was the only thing that counted. Besides, due to Yamato's pillow talk they always learned the news first; Eddie was a hopeless gossip.

This one time, though, they'd have preferred not to know.

"So, she's out for blood, eh?" Teague, the team's tech wizard asked morosely. "The Colonel had said that Sheppard was bad news. It's a fucking shame about the Sergeant."

The Colonel was Marshal Sumner, of course, still considered their one and only leader by the Marines of Atlantis, even post mortem.

"We should ask Dr. Simpson what the chances are," Rickman suggested. "She's an Army brat herself; she'll tell us."

"Yeah, but will she know?" Toussaint frowned.

"She's on real good terms with Dr. Weir," Rickman said. "She'll find out."

"Okay," Toussaint nodded. "Who asks her?"

All eyes turned to Yamato, who protested angrily. "I'm not your token woman, guys!"

"No," Rickman agreed. "But if we approach Dr. Simpson in the mess hall, everyone will suspect that we're up to something. You, on the other hand, train with her regularly. You can do it discretely."

That was very true, of course, and after some hesitation Yamato gave in. "Oh, all right, I'll do it!"


As usual, he found Dr. Simpson sitting at the same table as Dr. Kavanagh. The two scientists had a strange, love-hate relationship: they were always fighting viciously at work over every tiny detail but would go on amiably off-duty. They were obviously off-duty now, because Dr. Kavanagh was actually smiling; and Yamato had to admit that the man wasn't half bad without that permanent scowl on his face. And that long hair – it must have been a thing of beauty if not braided so tightly.

Get real, man, Yamato berated himself. This was not the time to check out hot guys in the mess hall. He was here in behalf of his sergeant. Besides. Dr. Kavanagh would probably break his nose if he'd catch him checking out his assets – or, at least, he'd try. And that could lead to all sorts of unpleasant consequences.

The two had noticed his presence in the meantime, and Dr. Kavanagh looked up at him over the rim of his glasses, customary scowl firmly in place again.

"Yes, Private, can we help you somehow or is this just the new military tactic to intimidate the hell out of us geeks?"

Yamato was surprised that Dr. Kavanagh apparently knew the rank insignia of the Corps, but again, geeks were resourceful people.

"I wanted to speak with Dr. Simpson for a moment," he said, shifting his weight from one foot to another. He wasn't usually a shy person – no Marine ever was – but a smart man minded his manners when about to ask a favour, and among other things, Yamato was a smart man.

Dr. Simpson nodded. She was a rather plain woman, with her pale, freckled face and sandy, shoulder-length hair, but sharp like a razor and as tough as nails – remarkable for a geek, but again, rumour said her father was an Army officer and allegedly the terror of new recruits, which explained a lot.

"Have a seat, Private Yamato," she said, "and tell me what's the problem."

"I'd rather stand, ma'am, if you don't mind," Yamato replied. He didn't want to start any rumours, and some of his fellow Marines had a dirty mind… and an even dirtier mouth.

"Do you two wanna be alone?" Dr. Kavanagh asked sarcastically. Yamato withheld the urge to hit him. That would only lead to complications.

"Calvin," Dr. Simpson scolded her colleague, "don't provoke the man with the big gun. Or the big knife. Not that he'd need a weapon to tear you to pieces," she added with a smirk. "You shouldn't let his size mislead you."

Dr, Kavanagh's first name was Calvin? Well, small wonder the man was always so ill-tempered… or that most people didn't even know that he had a first name to begin with. Yamato suppressed a grin. Oh, this will make a good story, once the current crisis was dealt with.

"It won't take long, Ma'am," he said. "I just wanted to ask you about the Sergeant. What you think his choices are, and what we could do to help him. That sort of stuff."

"I see," Dr. Simpson replied. "Well, for starters, the best thing you can do to help him is to behave. Show Dr. Weir and the others from the leading staff that you actually can follow orders and respect the status quo. No heroic actions on behalf of Sergeant Bates – you'd only make everything a lot worse for him."

Yamato thought about that for a moment, then he nodded. "Understood, ma'am. Any idea how the Sergeant's chances stand?"

"Not a single one," Dr. Simpson admitted. "But I'll ask around a bit and send you word when I've learned anything. I promise."

Yamato thanked her and left. Kavanagh looked at her with interest.

"You really think Bates has a snowball's chance in hell to come out of this mess unscathed?" he asked.

Julia Simpson shook her head. "No, I just wanted to keep up morale. Morale is important, and Bates' team is devoted to him. It will be hard for them to get used to a new team leader."

"Do you think they'll have to?" Kavanagh asked.

Simpson nodded empathically. "Oh, yes. Dr. Weir won't let this one slip. She'll make an example for future uses.

"It's a pity, really," Kavanagh commented. "Bates isn't a bad guy … for a jarhead. He has the right attitude towards things… and people."

Simpson flashed him a wry grin. "You're just defending him because he's every bit as paranoid as you are."

"Paranoid people live longer," Kavanagh replied. "Unless their brains are eaten by malevolent alien nanoviruses, that is."

Simpson sighed. "We've lost a few good people yesterday. Poor Renée Dumais, she's fought so hard to be allowed to come with us, and for what?"

"Kavanagh nodded gloomily. "I'll miss Petersen," he said. "We'd worked together at the SGC, before I moved on to Antarctica. And Zelenka must be devastated. He and Hays were good friends. And we could have lost a lot more people when the virus was spread over half the city. I hope Sheppard gets his ass seriously kicked this time."

"That won't bring back our colleagues, either," Simpson pointed out. "But what it is worth, I hope the same."


Sergeant Bates was a bit surprised when his door opened, allowing not Petty Officer Tiner, whom he had expected, but Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez – formerly of the JAG Headquarters, then at Special Ops in the Middle East, and now on Atlantis as one of the pillars of the local Marine platoon. He hadn't had much contact with the man so far – Galindez didn't belong to any of the scout teams that regularly went off-world – but had heard about him a lot. The smart and handsome man was something of a legend in the Corps – small wonder that he got selected for the Atlantis expedition, where both smarts and experience were required.

"What are you doing here, Gunny?" Bates asked. "Not that I won't appreciate the moral support, but I don't think a casual visit would have been authorised."

"You're right, of course," Galindez nodded. "I'm helping Tiner with your case. We're used to work together, from our time at JAG, and I have a little more experience in law enforcement. I used to be a sheriff for a while, and did a great deal of research at JAG."

"Somehow, I find it hard to imagine the two of you working together," Bates admitted.

"Oh, Tiner's not so bad," Galindez laughed, "and not even as green as he looks. It's hard to betaken seriously, if someone has a baby face like his, but he knows his stuff – and has more balls than a lot of people I've seen in the courtroom. When this is over, remind me to tell you how he saved my ass by doing testimony against his own brother… well, half-brother anyway."

"The gay one who'd dragged him to a fetish club?" Bates grinned involuntarily. That one adventure of Petty Officer Tiner was a known thing on Atlantis.

Galindez returned his grin. "News travel fast, it seems."

Bates shrugged. "Well, yeah, we don't get much entertainment here, aside from the gossip."

"In any case," Galindez said, suddenly very serious again, "Tiner knows his stuff, as I said. He's not just book-smart; he's seen many a courtroom close up and has a good grip on what one could expect from a process. You should trust his judgement."

"Do you?" Bates asked. Galindez thought about that for a moment.

"In everything that really matters… yeah, I do," he finally said. "In everything else – not a chance! The guy had the worst fashion sense and the weirdest hobbies one can imagine."

Bates let the first part of the answer sink in for a minute. Then he nodded. "Works for me," he said simply.

Consequently, it was a very cooperative Sergeant Bates who welcomed Petty Officer Tiner more than half an hour later. Gunnery Sergeant Galindez, on the other hand, was more than a little irritated.

"You're late," he told the young man. Tiner shrugged, without taking offence at his tone.

"I thought you were here to help me, Gunny, not to play drill sergeant," he replied tiredly. "I've gone through the Atlantis Charta with the fine-toothed comb to see if there are any grey zones we could use for Sergeant Bates' advantage. It took longer than expected, okay? But I didn't want to overlook anything, no matter how slim the chance might be."

"What have you found?" Galindez asked.

"Honestly? Not much," Tiner admitted glumly. "The Charta is very clear about authority and responsibilities; which isn't surprising, considering that dozens of the best lawyers and diplomats from at least six countries worked on it. Including Dr. Weir and Dr. Kirkitadze."

"Which means they're both all too aware what's in it," Galindez said.

Tiner nodded. "I'd say they both know it by the heart. It was their baby, after all, their pet project. We're gonna have a very tough process – and very little time to prepare ourselves."

"What's your strategy?" Bates asked.

"It depends on you," Tiner replied. "Basically, we can approach this from two different angles. One: if you're positive that you've done the right thing by following Major Sheppard's orders over Dr. Weir's head, you can plead innocent, and I can try to haul you out. Two: if you've come to think that you were wrong, you can plead guilty, admit your mistake and cooperate with the court – in which case you could count on a milder sentence."

"I don't wanna deliver Major Sheppard to the knife," Bates said. "The man's an arrogant punk, but he's still the highest ranking military officer on base."

"The highest ranking American officer, you mean," Tiner corrected. "There are other ones of the same rank. And you couldn't harm him more, even if you wanted. That… unpleasant little clash was broadcast through the entire city – and directly witnessed by half a dozen Gate room technicians."

"Will they be heard, too?" Galindez asked.

"Every single one of them… and all surviving scientists from the search team. And the Marines escorting them," Tiner replied grimly. "Dr. Kirkitadze is nothing if not thorough."

"And who's gonna defend the major?" Bates asked.

"Apparently, he's decided to defend himself," Tiner answered with a shrug. "If he's so eager to put his own neck into the loop, who am I to spoil his fun?"

"Can't they order you to take over his defence, too?" Galindez asked. "For his own good?"

Tiner shook his head. "Gunny, I was given independent status from all military authorities on this base for exactly this reason: that nobody could order me to do things, or to leave them alone," he said. "Only Dr. Weir could order me to do anything; the commission specifically asked for someone from the Navy, so that I wouldn't have to answer to the major or to any Marine officer here. I am the JAG officer of the base, with all the duties and privileges of that position."

"Just don't let if get to your head," Galindez murmured.

Tiner pretended that he hadn't heard the comment. He turned to Bates instead.

"Well, Sergeant," he said. "You need to make a decision here, so that I can build up my strategy for the trial. What are you gonna plead?"

"I dunno," Bates replied in frustration. "What would you do?"

"Are you asking for my expert opinion or what the law says?" Tiner tried to clarify.

Bates shrugged. "Both, I guess."

"Fair enough," Tiner nodded. "Well, my opinion as your defence attorney is that you should plead guilty. The letter of the law says you are guilty; there's no loophole, I'm afraid. Plus, you'd get a better deal out of it that way. But ultimately, it's your life and your decisions – you must decide according to your conscience."


It was late afternoon when Dr. Radek Zelenka and his Athosian wife, Marta, returned from the mainland where they had buried Dr. Paul Hays. The late scientist had named Dr. Zelenka to be the one to carry out his last will, which had been to be buried in real soil… no matter where, but in soil. Not cremated, not shot into space somewhere, but properly buried, in the old-fashioned way, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Halling, the Athosian leader, who also acted as something between a priest and a ceremony master for his people, had performed their ancient ritual called the Ring Ceremony, baring up the scientists in a ring of upright stones and playing a lilting lament on their various instruments. It had been a very moving scene, with Marta singing the farewell hymn in her soft, child-like voice. Radek thought that Paul Hays would have liked it.

On their way back, Sergeant Jamie Markham, who'd been flying Jumper #4, gave them a short summary of the newest events – including Dr. McKay's theory that the nanovirus had been made by the Ancients themselves and the upcoming trial.

"It seems that both Gene and the major are in deep sh… I mean, trouble," Markham corrected himself mid-word, shooting Marta an apologetic look. He'd been taught not to swear in the presence of ladies, and – Athosian or not – Dr. Zelenka's wife counted as a lady. Mrs. Markham had been adamant when it came to decent manners, even though she'd tended to spoil her only son rotten in almost every other thing.

"Are they being punished?" Marta asked quietly. Radek nodded.

"I believe so… and I must say that I agree. I don't wish either Sergeant Bates or the major any harm, but truth is, they have endangered everyone in Atlantis. Even though Major Sheppard saved us in the end, there must be consequences."

"But does the good he did in the end not outweigh the wrong he did in the beginning?" Marta asked, not defending the major, just pointing out other aspects of the whole affair. Although she couldn't help but being grateful towards the man who'd saved her husband from dying a quick but brutal death in the last minute.

"The results should be considered in his favour," Radek agreed, "but they cannot excuse his methods, since there were other methods, less risky ones. He was being reckless; he thought because he's military, he's allowed to disregards civilian leaders. That is dangerous example that must not remain unpunished, or else Atlantis will become military dictature."

"Hey, doc, aren't you exaggerating a bit?" Markham protested. "Why are you geeks always suspecting the military wants to take over everything?"

"Perhaps because military has tendency to take things into own hands, whenever they get impatient," Zelenka replied dryly. "It doesn't have to start with shooting people on the streets, Sergeant. That's consequence, not true reason. Things usually start on small scale… just like yesterday. With little things," he showed between his thumb and index finger how little the beginning could be. "Fuelled by best intentions, I don't doubt that. I assume you know what they say about good intentions, yes?"

Markham shook his head in bewilderment. Joining the Marine Corps at the age of sixteen after a sheltered childhood he tended to take things for face value, without pondering over hidden motives. That was Stackhouse's forte. Which was probably the reason why Stackhouse was a team leader and Markham was not.

"I still think you're paranoid, doc," he said.

"Oh, I certainly am," Zelenka agreed amiably. "Is very useful character trait. Kept me alive during my youth in Czechoslovakia."

That shut Markham up for good. Like too many Americans, he didn't know much about what had been going on behind the Iron Curtain during all those decades of communist regime, save the black-and-white clichés that had been spoon-fed to people through the media. Talking to someone who'd actually lived through all that made him a bit uncomfortable. He didn't know what to say, so he wisely chose to remain silent. After all, a pilot did well to stay on the good side of the man who maintained all the puddlejumpers.

"We're here," he said after a while, when Atlantis' automated guiding system took over for him and the jumper was towed in to its usual rack. The doors of the small ship slid aside to allow them to depart.

Zelenka thanked him – the man was infallibly polite in most cases, unless he had to stand up to Dr. McKay in some scientific debate – and taking his wife's hand, he left the jumper bay.

Markham looked after them carefully. He had the uncomfortable feeling that many of the civilians shared Dr. Zelenka's opinion… and that not everyone would be so measured about it than the Czech engineer.

This was certainly going to be a spectacular hearing. And while Markham didn't really want Major Sheppard any harm (he might have been annoying, but he was still an officer), his sympathy was with poor Bates, first and foremost.

TBC