Time Immemorial
Chapter 40: Albatross
July 22nd
1214 Hours
Atlantis' skyline served as an exquisite backdrop for the memorial service. They couldn't have hoped for a more picturesque day. The entirety of the expedition had gathered on the southern pier under brilliant rays of sun and the barest breath of a breeze. With the Daedalus only two days out and the long range scopes clean, they had been confident enough to lower the City's shield and allow the two offworld teams to Gate back earlier that morning. Several dozen Athosians had insisted on paying their respects as well. It truly was an all-hands-on-deck occasion.
Elizabeth stood before the crowd. The bodies of the fallen expedition members still laid within the morgue, to be returned to Earth after the Daedalus arrived. Behind her, though, eleven wreaths woven by the Athosians hung from makeshift stands. Below each, a small tealight candle burned. It was they best they could do with the few resources they had. They deserved more.
"When I thought about how to best represent our fallen teammates at this service," she addressed the expedition, "nothing seemed good enough. Nothing seemed fitting of the great sacrifice they have made. Nothing I could show you or say to you today could possibly do them justice.
"But as I look at the faces of all of you now, here, I realize that the perfect — in fact, the only — metaphor worthy of their heroism is standing right in front of me. Each and every one of you is a symbol for their bravery. Through your continuing work in this galaxy will the spirits of our eleven comrades live on. Your achievements are monuments to them that stand taller than any cemetery headstone could. Your discoveries sing their praises, sweeter than any eulogy would."
Major Sheppard, standing in the front row in his blue Air Force service uniform, watched on. To his left stood Captain Ford, similarly attired in formal Marine Corps service khakis, while Dr. McKay stood on his right in a black suit. Elizabeth, too, had donned her one and only pantsuit. With such limited space allotted to them they had all groused when they'd been directed to bring one formal outfit from Earth, but the SGC had demanded it for fear of disrespecting any new ally's customs. Never did they think that they'd be wearing it for an offworld funeral.
"I'd like to leave you with a passage I came across in the Ancient database from an anonymous author," Dr. Weir said.
"Nos has voces ita ueros:
Qui posurant animas cordis valeant ut alii sub culmini tecti
Et hoc est pignus nostrae dextrum ixta habitatores fontis hoc mundo et in jus semper secula cognoscendum habetur accessus
Nos non potast ultra insturari
Dum tu abessi, et onarare pargat ingeri nostro refusi pectori
Vade in pace
Macenas noster ad ostium tuum erit spirituum ius semperi
Nos has voces ita ueros.
"To translate:
'We hold these words as true:
A heartfelt goodbye to those who have laid down their lives so that others may have shelter under our roof
For that is our pledge to the inhabitants of this world and all worlds we may ever know
We cannot be made whole again
Your absence shall weigh heavy on our souls
Go in peace
Your spirits shall be welcome at our door forever more
We hold these words as true.'"
With a small nod, Elizabeth beckoned Teyla forward. The Athosian custom had been Teyla's idea; Dr. Weir had gratefully agreed to it. Reverently, she and four other Athosians gathered the small candles from underneath each wreath. They walked them down three steps to the ocean's surface. The cool water lapped gently at their feet.
John joined Elizabeth, suddenly conscious of the size of his audience. He pulled a small piece of paper folded neatly in half from his breast pocket. Clearing his throat, he began to read the names of his perished teammates.
"Private Eric Nylund."
As the first name was announced, Teyla placed one of the candles gently into the ocean. Its flame remained lit, a symbol of the soul's enduring radiance. The tide carried its buoyant wooden base out to sea, never to return to Atlantis again.
"Private Marcus Hausmann," John read next.
An Athosian boy of about ten years laid a second candle atop the ocean's surface. It, too, rode the current, following its brother to its journey's end.
"Corporal Lisa Tibbets."
John looked at the remaining names scrawled on the paper he held. His hand began to quake again, turning the text into blurs. He didn't need it, anyway. He could never forget those names. It didn't matter than it was only eleven — only eleven, dammit — it could have been one hundred and he still would remember them all. They were good people, each and every one of them, far more than names on a paper. He would not itemize them like some damn groceries on a shopping list; he intended to do them the honor of remembering them.
The major carefully folded the paper again and returned it to his pocket, willing his nerves to calm. "Corporal Noah Sinclair."
Elizabeth noticed his divergence, saw his trembling hand clench into a tight fist in frustration. She took a step closer to him in support.
"Sergeant Jeffery Elliot."
John next recognized Sergeant Paul Gragowski, Sergeant Vijay Singh, Sergeant Tony Juarez, and Sergeant Anne Sorensen. Each was harder than the previous. He breathed deeply, trying to keep it together. He knew the two that remained. The civilians.
"Doctor…." The major stumbled. "Doctor Stephen Pavlou."
As another candle was placed into the water, Dr. McKay regarded Sheppard closely. He felt for the man. His job was not an easy one on any given day, least of all today. McKay couldn't imagine the tangled mess of feelings he had to be fighting through.
Elizabeth shared the same sentiment. She had second-guessed her decision to ask for his participation in the ceremony almost as soon as he had agreed to it. His intentions had been noble, but her fear for his emotional fragility was apparently not unfounded.
The name of the final scientist remained lodged in John's throat. He willed his mouth to move but he could not speak. Suddenly he was back in the cafeteria, strapped tight to a chair, watching helplessly as the husband and father of two begged for his life before a Lacedami guard leveled his pistol at the back of the botanist's skull—
A soft touch to his shoulder nearly caused him to jump out of his skin. It was Elizabeth. She met him with sympathetic eyes, as if to say, It's okay, I can finish this. He acquiesced with a rueful nod and took one step back.
"Doctor Michael Inouye," Dr. Weir finished.
Eleven expedition members lost five days prior, eleven souls commemorated.
But Elizabeth pulled a twelfth candle from her jacket pocket. "I'd like to recognize one more person, a soldier far too young to have died. Though not an expedition member, his integrity, courage, and sense of morality set him apart from the rest of his crew. But it was that integrity, courage, and morality that sent him to an untimely and unwarranted end. I can only hope that the Boatman carried him to the peaceful afterlife he deserves in the fields of Elysium." Elizabeth lit the candle. "Kyros."
Teyla accepted the candle with a respectful nod. She set it afloat. It chased the eleven others over the swells, joining them on their voyage westward where they would eventually meet the sun on the horizon. There, each flame would merge with the great ball of fire, the departed's spirits joining with others long passed, forever able to watch over those they left behind.
As one, the military members of the audience saluted the procession of retreating flames. It was a sight to behold.
On cue, four Puddle Jumpers approached from the west. As they neared the pier, the number three wingman pulled up and banked away, a perfect missing man formation.
John's eyes trailed the turning Jumper. He lowered his arm to his side, the service complete. The marines followed suit. "Atlantis expedition, dismissed—"
"Marines!" Gunnery Sergeant Cassidy abruptly barked. Those civilians who had began to file out stopped mid-stride, perplexed by the interruption.
The entire military contingent turned to face John. "Sa-lute!" Cassidy called.
John watched as over twenty marines saluted him. They stood tall, proud to be marines, proud to serve under him. He didn't know what to think. He was awed. He was humbled. He was unworthy of their respect. Sheppard snapped a crisp salute in return, the marines returning to at-ease.
But the Gunny wasn't done. "Marines, sa-lute!" he called again. As before, over twenty arms were raised in respect.
Still standing at John's side, Elizabeth watched, befuddled. She whispered to him, "They already saluted you. I don't understand."
But John did. "It's not me they're saluting this time," he explained knowingly. The major took one deferential step back and faced her. He brought his hand to his forehead.
Elizabeth's mouth hung agape as the realization dawned on her. Her eyes scanned the audience. Military or civilian, she held each and every one of them in the highest regard: Dr. Widstrom, who leaned heavily on crutches; Corporal Kuhn, who, with considerable effort, had stood up out of her wheelchair; Sergeant Bates, who saluted with his left arm while he held his right in a sling; Dr. Huston, whose neck was in a brace. They all had good reason to loathe her, yet they stood proudly before her.
Then there was John. Despite their personal troubles, there he was, brown eyes beaming with pride under his blue cover. He was behind her to the end, as usual.
"I… I don't know what to say," she choked out. Her eyes threatened to water.
"You can just say, 'oorah', ma'am," Gunny answered lightheartedly.
Elizabeth laughed at that. "In that case, oorah, Sergeant."
"Oorah!" the chorus of marines erupted immediately. The rest of the crowd joined in their merriment before the gathering broke apart. Some stayed and mingled. Those that left did so not as they had arrived, morose and despondent, but rather unified and hopeful.
All but one.
"A penny for your thoughts," Elizabeth called after his retreating form. His slumped posture and hastened gait made it clear he was desperate to escape, but she wasn't about to let him wander off alone with nothing but the recent memory of the funeral for company.
John stopped, debating whether or not to turn and face her. Facing the entire expedition on the pier, enumerating his sins before them had been difficult enough.
His choice was made for him as Elizabeth stepped around in front of him, forcing him to make eye contact. "Are you doing okay?"
He still felt uncomfortable around her, in some ways more than ever. "Yeah, I'm okay," he found himself saying anyway. "I was just thinking about how I ended up here, on this expedition."
"Some powerful persuasion from a one-star, as I recall."
"A flip of the coin," Sheppard corrected. "Literally. Talk about bad luck. I'm beginning to think it would have been better off for everyone if I would have stayed home."
Elizabeth wanted to ask where this was coming from, but it was plain that while the memorial service had given everyone else the closure they needed, it had only stirred up a tempest of guilt within the major.
"If you hadn't come," she explained stalwartly, "a lot of people would have died on our very first day in Atlantis, and a hell of a lot more since then."
"Maybe…."
"Absolutely."
"People have died because of me," John pressed, holding her gaze. "People I can't stand to lose."
Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably on her feet. She didn't know how to respond. She looked around at the stragglers, seeing if anyone was paying them any mind.
John pointed back toward the end of the pier, ignoring the protest of his still healing body. "That could have been your name scrawled on that piece of paper for me to read. Hell, it almost was. But you're here, alive, and because of that I feel like I've been blessed with something I know I don't deserve, something I'm afraid could be snatched back at any moment."
Her heart ached at his torment as Carson's words rang through her head. But she reminded herself to maintain her distance. At the very least she could redirect his misplaced remorse.
"Whatever mistakes you think you made were mine." She held her hand up as he started to protest. "The job title on my business card says so. I can understand feeling responsible for those twelve lives, but you are not at fault for their deaths. There are corners of this universe that are dark, ruthless, and sadistic, and we were unfortunate enough to stumble into one. We were lucky we had you to pull us out of the fire. Sometimes the right man in the wrong place can make the world of difference."
"I'm not that man, Elizabeth."
"I have a year's worth of your mission reports that beg to differ."
"Well, this last one might change your mind."
"Reading it is on my list of afternoon tasks."
"I haven't closed it out yet," he admitted. "I want another crack at the ascension device first."
She frowned. "For what purpose?"
Hesitating, John decided how much he wanted to divulge. "There's something I need to know."
"Rodney still hasn't had any success with it."
"What does he think it'll take to bring it back online?"
"At this point, I think it might be beyond salvageable. I was going to have him prepare it for permanent storage." Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, leery. "What are you getting at?"
"Hear me out," the major began. "If Rodney can figure that thing out, I can put it back on — maybe bring those twelve people back."
Elizabeth closed her eyes to keep herself from exploding in a fit of dismay. Of course he was still searching for that elusive solution. She wanted desperately to shout some sense into him. Instead, she put on a well-practiced face of restraint.
"They've been dead for days, John," the diplomat calmly reasoned.
"And you were dead for ten hours," he argued. "Hours, days, does it even matter?"
She sighed. "Would you listen to yourself?"
"Elizabeth, I killed them. Me."
And there it was. His guilt had been plain, but to hear him use those words, to suddenly understand the depths of it…. It tore at her. She wanted to pull him toward her, envelope him in her arms, and promise him it would be alright. But she knew she couldn't, not anymore. In any case, knowingly or unknowingly, he was searching for more pain, not comfort. She would not give him that, either.
"Funny," that hardened part of herself said, "I don't remember you putting a gun to their heads."
"I might as well have. If there's even the slightest chance I can revive them, I need to take it," Sheppard pleaded. "I need to fix this."
"You can't fix this; no one can!"
"How do you know that?"
"We are not trifling with a power that great, and we are not meddling with life and death! You saw it's destructive abilities."
"And I saw it's healing abilities—"
"The answer's no," she laid down, unwilling to let his self-persecution continue. "I'm sorry."
She could sense his resentment and disappointment in her. She felt his withering glare. His eyes burned into her with a silent acrimony she had only seen reserved for his most loathed foes. She never intended to push him that far from her.
"Sir, ma'am?" a voice to her left announced. Ford approached cautiously.
John begrudgingly tore his gaze from Elizabeth and acknowledged the young marine. "What's on your mind, Ford?" he said tightly.
The captain seemed to be aware of the tension; his eyes darted warily between the two Atlantis leaders. "Well," he began gingerly, "there's a rumor going around that I'm hoping you can shed some light on. It'd certainly make us all feel a lot better."
"What is it?" Elizabeth asked.
"Some people are saying that after the IOA is done meeting with each one of us—" Aiden stopped short when he saw his CO's eyebrows arch in surprise at the mention of the IOA. "That after they get all of our statements, they're going to make some leadership changes. That isn't true, is it, sir?"
"No, Ford, absolutely not," Sheppard declared at the same time Elizabeth said, "We'll have to wait and see."
John shot her a look, shocked.
Ford stood confused in the silence that ensued. Wisely, the marine nodded anyway and excused himself, sensing he did not want to be a part of whatever was about to follow.
Folding his arms, John watched Aiden retreat beyond aural range. "You know something I don't?" he demanded of Elizabeth.
She regarded him for a long moment before looking away, indecisive.
"Okay, can we forget about this… thing between us for a minute?" Sheppard asked, softening at her obvious anxiety. "Talk to me, as your friend. And if you can't do that, talk to me as your second-in-command."
She found herself nodding. She needed to warn him about the storm on the horizon; it would be unfair to send him into this battle unarmed. "I got off the horn with the Daedalus this morning. Our reports on the Lacedami have ended up in the hands of the IOA… and they're not happy with me."
The major immediately adopted a defensive posture. "I hope they're not making any rash decisions without speaking with me first."
Smiling wanly, she answered, "Don't feel so left out. All Atlantis personnel will be debriefed by the IOA when they arrive."
"When they arrive? What, here?"
"They were onboard the Daedalus to observe her initial space trials, and it was deemed in the best interest of the program for them to remain onboard so they could understand our situation firsthand."
John listened to her defeatist tone, one he hadn't heard in her before. She had recited the explanation so robotically that he was sure they were the same words that had been delivered to her. They dripped with bureaucracy and the threat of political pitfalls. He felt the fight stoke up inside him.
"When the hell were you going to tell me?" he pressed.
Bracing her hands on her hips, she bit back, "I found out this morning just prior to the memorial service — I'm sorry if the timing was inconvenient for you."
John took the jab in stride. "Okay," he said with a sigh, "so the IOA gets here in two days. Then what?"
"Their board will debrief most the the expedition that same day. I'm scheduled for a 0900-1000 interview the following morning. You have the time slot right before me."
"Wow, they're allotting you a whole hour, huh," the pilot said dryly.
It doesn't take long to say 'you're fired', she thought bitterly to herself. "You can give them your side of their story then, but I don't think it'll make much of a difference to their big picture plan."
John felt his stomach lurch. "Don't tell me they want to shut this place down."
"No, that I can say for certain. This place is too valuable to them." She looked at him earnestly. "John, I think I'm going to be replaced."
"What?" he demanded. Her passivity didn't match. She lacked an outrage he instead harbored on her behalf. Suspicious, he asked, "What did you tell them in your report?"
"The truth," she said simply. "I assured them we learned our lesson, though."
"What lesson?" he challenged. "Not to make contact with anyone ever again?"'
"That won't be up to me. We had a system. We did everything by the book. We were cautious, everyone followed all the procedures to the letter and still, look what happened."
"I'm not following."
"I put that system in place. I wrote the book. And I clearly can't handle that responsibility."
John's brow furrowed in disbelief of the words he was hearing. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that after countless blunders, it's obvious I'm not longer to fit to be this base's leader. My greatest mistake was thinking that I ever was. During my debrief, if they don't fire me I'm going to ask to be replaced."
John felt a knot tighten in his chest. "You can't do that," he said severely.
"I can and will," Elizabeth warned. "At least I can make this one last small, redeeming decision."
"This is ridiculous. You're making a knee-jerk reaction—"
"This isn't up for negotiation."
There it was again, that vanquished attitude. He had never seen her so willing to concede anything before. "There's something else, something you're not telling me. What's going on?"
"I don't belong in Atlantis anymore, John," she maintained. "I was too afraid to admit it but it's painfully obvious now: I am way out of my element here."
"Are you kidding me? I don't know anyone else more in their element. You took to this place like a duck to water. I saw your face light up the first time you stepped foot in the Gate Room. You were in Disneyland."
"Well the vacation's over. I don't deserve to be here."
"You do deserve to be here, more than anyone else, and Atlantis deserves you as its leader. Christ, you waited 10,000 years in a stasis chamber for this City."
"That was a different me, a better me. I need to get back to my grass roots: treaty brokering, the UN, teaching." She paused thoughtfully. "Did you know most people from my hometown haven't left it? And here I thought I was the dreamer for wanting to work in Washington. I used to think that the biggest accomplishment in life was to win a Nobel Peace Prize. Somehow I ended up on the other side of the known universe."
"Doing good, for the people of Pegasus and for our own. Tell me you can see that."
Unable to meet his scrutinizing stare, she turned away. His eyes could always bore through her armor and see the truth. This time was no different.
"This isn't about you having to leave," John realized. "This is about you wanting to leave. You're running away." He gave her the opportunity to deny it. She didn't. "Why don't you want to stay here?"
"Why do you care?"
"What do you mean, why do I care?
"Why do you care if I stay or go?" she reiterated. "Why can't you just drop this?"
He spun her gently by her shoulders and looked down into her eyes. "Because someone once told me I don't know how to give up. Tell me: why don't you want to stay?" he repeated.
"There are about a million reasons why."
"Then I'd like the opportunity to refute every one of them."
"No."
"Come on, let's hear them. I'm serious."
"Please don't make me." Turning to leave, Elizabeth took a step toward the City. Her momentum was jolted to a stop as John reached out and grabbed her wrist. "Let me go," she threatened.
"I'm not letting you walk away from this that easily."
She shook free of his grasp. "From what, exactly? From the expedition? Or from us?"
The on the nose question set him off balance. "From…. Let's just forget about us for one second—"
"That's all we've done! We've constantly 'forgotten about us' in favor of the expedition! It's about time we call this what it really is."
"And what's that, exactly?"
"A working relationship."
"A working relationship?"
"That's all it can ever be — what don't you understand about that?"
"I don't understand how you can lie to yourself like this!"
"Oh, please," Elizabeth groused. "How dare you assume to know what I'm feeling?"
"Because I know you, Elizabeth. You think you can read me like a book? You're not so hard to read yourself."
"Then you should understand why we can't be together! As the expedition leader and this base's military commander, we are supposed to be each other's checks and balances, not in bed together!" She felt the heat rise to her cheeks at her Freudian slip. "Literally or figuratively."
"And you don't think you can maintain your objectivity while in a relationship?"
"No, I don't!" she shouted, before letting her voice fall. "Not with you."
"I'm flattered," he muttered flatly.
"Our feelings for each other have been used against us twice now: once with the Klaan, and now with the Lacedami. What's the saying: 'fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me'? Well shame on me for allowing it to happen in the first place."
"This isn't all on you. You and I, we started something together."
"Nothing we can't stop."
"You sure about that?" he challenged, ignoring the barb. "Because I'm not."
"In a few days' time, we won't have a choice. Now, excuse me," she closed as she marched toward the City, leaving a defeated Sheppard to watch her go.
TBC
