Chapter 7: Feelings
It had been awhile since Oscar's last visit. Sam had decided to name her tormentor, the Wraith. It was a little trick she'd learned from John Sheppard, made it easier to comprehend the creatures once they had a name. It was something Jack would do.
She was uncertain how much time had passed. Oscar had given her an injection. Though she had no idea what it was, Sam hoped it might help her sleep. No such luck, she was still wide awake, running on nervous energy and, whether she wanted to admit it or not, fear.
She couldn't have been here more than a few days. As far as she could tell there was no obvious way to break free of her unyielding prison. Hopefully these cocoons made some provision for maintaining range of motion. She was going to be more than a little stiff when they finally let her out.
Despite Sam's best efforts to get information about Oscar's plans for her, she'd failed miserably so far. All he'd been willing to share were angry diatribes about the injustices humans had perpetrated on the Wraith. It seemed Oscar and his friends felt like the victims here. That was not a good thing.
Sam hated the name Oscar.
OoOoOo
Meanwhile, back on Atlantis …
At thirty-two years of age, Anita Lattimore PhD seemed a good fit for the Atlantis expedition. Though relatively inexperienced in her work as a clinical psychologist, family connections had quickly pushed her to the forefront of her profession. Those ties continued to serve her well. But beyond that silver spoon, Dr. Lattimore was a dedicated, ambitious woman. And she had security clearance.
Though otherwise fearless, the young psychologist made her dislike of the Stargate itself no secret. When time came for the initial trip to Atlantis, she'd been happy to avoid the quicker, in her mind, riskier trip, in favor of a ride aboard one of Earth's top secret hyperspace cruisers.
Her arrival in Atlantis was certainly inauspicious. She'd come three weeks after Kate Heightmeyer's death, arriving aboard a scheduled trip of the Daedelus. On that particular run, Colonel Caldwell and crew endured one of their more harrowing encounters with the Wraith. Anita was one of the personnel treated to an up close and personal visit, escaping only after the heroic intervention of a rescue team from the Daedelus.
It was more than enough to make a lesser person think twice about her new position. But that wasn't Anita. From all outward appearances her enthusiasm was undiminished by her traumatic experience. She seemed to take it in stride. Her response had gone a long way towards easing her acceptance into the Atlantis family. Many saw her resilience as a positive comment on her strength of character, reassuring them of her ability to lend that strength to them when they needed it most.
Anita had been part of the team nearly seven months when the Alpha site was destroyed. Like most of her colleagues she'd had input into the site design. She'd spent weeks there with Dr. Keller, offering her input on the most beneficial way to arrange the facility should it ever be needed as a long term refugee site. She'd even conquered her fear of the Stargate enough to travel through via puddle jumper. Successfully navigating the Stargate had made her feel more confident. And she needed every ounce of that confidence to help her teammates deal with the latest tragedy.
Since Colonel Carter's loss, Anita had been busy. During her leadership, Dr. Weir had done a good job of encouraging her staff to avail themselves of mental health services. Kate Heightmeyer's popularity had made the counseling office much less intimidating, and a place where both civilian and military personal felt at ease. Anita Lattimore fell heir to that spirit of trust and good will. Her ability to keep confidences, soothe anxious clients and help exorcise emotional demons had quickly become known among members of the expedition. Strong, accomplished men and women came to her door admitting their fears, their guilt, their grief. When they left her presence, they often felt better. It was a job she did well.
But Anita Lattimore was lonely. Her work distanced her personally from many of her colleagues. And she'd yet to find someone she could talk to about her own mutinous feelings.
OoOoOo
"Hey, how are you?"
Sam's companion was back. She had no idea where he'd gone, but he was back. Not Oscar, but her human companion.
"I'm just peachy," she answered irritably.
"Yeah," he answered, "most people sleep in the cocoons. You're the first one I've actually seen stay awake so much."
"Lucky me," Sam replied. Then after a moment, she asked, "So, how come you're walking around free?"
"Me? Well I've been here a long time, a couple of years I think."
"Really?" Sam had been told of Wraith worshippers and wondered if this man were one. "Why do they leave you alive?"
"Alive? Is that what we're calling it?" he responded sarcastically. "I suppose I serve a purpose in their sick little minds."
Sam had no idea what the man was talking about. Still, she needed his help. Like it or not, he was her best bet.
"What's your name? What do I call you?" Sam asked.
There was a noticeable pause. Then her companion answered, "Denny, you can call me Denny, Colonel."
That was the second time this one had addressed her by her rank. That's odd, she thought.
"Do you know me, Denny?" Sam asked.
"Oh, no Ma'am," he answered. "They told me who you were when they brought you in."
Why would the Wraith give this one any information at all? Sam wondered.
"Ever try to escape, Denny?" Sam asked.
"Not in a long while," he replied, his voice soft and miserable.
"Why not?" Sam persisted.
Why not, indeed? Denny questioned himself. Because they have something I need, he thought. But I can't tell her that …not yet.
"I tried …" he finally said "… to escape that is. There's no way out you know. Not without weapons or back up. Might as well get used to it," he said. "I have."
TBC
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