Chapter 16: I will tell the truth
When Hammond went looking for Varielle, he found her once again in the infirmary chatting with Captain Marsters, with the aid of a computer, about biochemistry.
"No," she shook her head. "This compound, you make from plants. We must synthesise it."
"Well, you can genetically engineer for it…"
Again she shook her head. "Our laws permit genetic alterations, but under certain conditions. It can take decades to get a permit for experimentation alone."
"Really? Why?"
"When the laws were made, other laws were in force, that meant rules were no different for microbes, plants or people. If one could be altered, all could, and if altering people goes wrong, rules of liability, compensation and control unclear. Was mess no one wanted to make, so laws made so strict, genetic engineering is never done frivolously. Once, before any laws made, there were people building their children to be so tall they do not fit through doors, or with purple hair, or extremely intelligent. Most genetic alterations have more failures than successes, and it cause - caused - problems."
"Well, if you can't make that compound in quantity, there's… oh, sorry sir," he snapped to attention. "I didn't see you there."
"At ease, Captain. I just dropped by to see how Miss Mizabwe is doing."
"Better, thank you," she nodded politely. "I am well enough to go home and be no more of a burden on you."
"I wanted to talk to you about that. Captain, could you give us a moment?"
The Captain was a smart man and could take a hint; he took his laptop, nodded politely and went.
"I wanted to ask you if you'd be coming back."
"That depends on my superiors," she said. "They will decide. Superiors in many senses. General, my rank is little better than that of corporal. I cannot make politicians and admirals and great scientists do what I want. And to your people, I do not know what I want."
"I've been instructed to ask for an alliance."
"Seventeen of our people have died for your wars," she reminded him. "Nearly eighteen. One of your allies would have me become a science specimen in a jar; one of your own people with power and influence would do worse. Your national leader does not control his country strongly, and your planet has not been without war since humans were enough numerous to have them, even if it was not always on the television or in the newspaper." Hammond looked a little ashamed. "If we ally ourselves with you, we commit ourselves to sharing technology with you, our information, and our best soldiers, while making ourselves more of a target than we already are. Tell me truthfully, General Hammond, what can the people of Earth offer us that we need so badly?"
Hammond had learned not to flounder visibly, but inside he was searching for answers. "Trade, perhaps."
"Trade is not truly a concern of our government. It is the concern of the private businesses. But the trade will be in goods and services and tourism, not guns and bombs. You think our weapons are better; they are merely different. In terms of destruction, the Goa'uld ones are very effective, perhaps better than ours, and you have access to those through your own efforts, and through the Tok'ra. We do not need space to settle; we have plenty. We have enough spaceships. We have medicines, food, and now we have a Stargate. There is nothing material you can offer us that will make an alliance seem such a brilliant idea the talk will finish before I have grey hairs."
"Nothing material, you said," he latched on to the last part. "What did you mean by that?"
"Alliance is one thing, friendship another," she said. "But I cannot speak for the leaders of my people. It will be their choice."
"They will judge us on your report."
"General, I cannot lie by omission. I will not be allowed to. On something this important, I will be facing a number of people to whom I must tell all the truth. Then they will start to judge."
"How many people do you have to talk to?"
"There is - what would you say, a military tribunal - I must account for the dead soldiers and speak of how they fought, and that will be long. They will wish to know of the Goa'uld and Jaffa, what they are capable of, and of your own people. The scientists will wish to learn all they can of both that world we never named, and this one. The doctors will wish to examine me. The Jedi will have their own hearings, where I must answer for the death of my teacher. There will most likely be politicians as well to speak to, and news people, then I must also see the families of the dead and tell them how my team died. I am the sole survivor; it is my duty." Her voice was flat and expressionless, but her face fore-spoke how harrowing it would be. "Then there will be people to whom I must teach English, if I can, and other things - smaller ones, like accounting for lost equipment. That will take time, especially the language teaching. Also, my people love to talk. A final decision on even opening negotiations will rest with politicians, not soldiers or Jedi or scientists, and no quick decision will be made."
"Is there nothing we can do to help?"
"I would like to take some books back with me. A dictionary, to start. It will help."
"That's it?"
"I must go home alone. We have our own defensive systems, not like your iris, but effective. My team has not reported and will be presumed dead. If anyone comes back with me, they will be killed before I have time to tell them not to shoot."
"You could radio through a signal."
"They would shoot anyway. No one cannot be broken, not even Jedi." She said it matter-of-factly. "Or controlled, or drugged, or the voice imitated. We know, when we leave, that our lives will not be valued above that of the safety of our people."
"I wouldn't like to serve in a place like that. We look after our own."
"As do we. But for you, 'our own' has many meanings. It can mean everyone, or just Americans, or just soldiers, or just people you command. For us, it means all. All our people. Not just soldiers, or our friends. The farmers and shop-keepers and builders and children and old people have the explorers outnumbered. We serve to protect them, not to be exalted above them." She shook her head.
"So you're saying there's nothing you can do?"
"I shall tell the truth, General. And I give you my word that I will cause your people no harm that I can prevent. I will not willingly endanger the lives of those who have helped me, or who have done nothing to me." She slid across the bed to stand firmly on the ground. "We should leave now."
"You want to leave now? I can… hey!" She grabbed his elbow and towed him out. "What are you doing?"
"If those men coming down the hall in armour, thick boots and with very big guns are here to take my temperature, I shall eat my own boots."
"I don't think you'll need to," they zigged down a side corridor. "Doctor Jackson!" General Hammond hailed the wandering archaeologist. "This way, please."
"I was just on my way to see you," he said. "I've been, ah, going back over my notes of your language…"
"It'll have to wait, doctor," Hammond said. "We've got problems… yes, Colonel Samuels, what is it?"
The brown-haired young man waiting in the passage-way saluted. "General, we're here on orders from the Pentagon…"
Varielle had gone rigid, scared as a deer in headlights.
When Hammond went looking for Varielle, he found her once again in the infirmary chatting with Captain Marsters, with the aid of a computer, about biochemistry.
"No," she shook her head. "This compound, you make from plants. We must synthesise it."
"Well, you can genetically engineer for it…"
Again she shook her head. "Our laws permit genetic alterations, but under certain conditions. It can take decades to get a permit for experimentation alone."
"Really? Why?"
"When the laws were made, other laws were in force, that meant rules were no different for microbes, plants or people. If one could be altered, all could, and if altering people goes wrong, rules of liability, compensation and control unclear. Was mess no one wanted to make, so laws made so strict, genetic engineering is never done frivolously. Once, before any laws made, there were people building their children to be so tall they do not fit through doors, or with purple hair, or extremely intelligent. Most genetic alterations have more failures than successes, and it cause - caused - problems."
"Well, if you can't make that compound in quantity, there's… oh, sorry sir," he snapped to attention. "I didn't see you there."
"At ease, Captain. I just dropped by to see how Miss Mizabwe is doing."
"Better, thank you," she nodded politely. "I am well enough to go home and be no more of a burden on you."
"I wanted to talk to you about that. Captain, could you give us a moment?"
The Captain was a smart man and could take a hint; he took his laptop, nodded politely and went.
"I wanted to ask you if you'd be coming back."
"That depends on my superiors," she said. "They will decide. Superiors in many senses. General, my rank is little better than that of corporal. I cannot make politicians and admirals and great scientists do what I want. And to your people, I do not know what I want."
"I've been instructed to ask for an alliance."
"Seventeen of our people have died for your wars," she reminded him. "Nearly eighteen. One of your allies would have me become a science specimen in a jar; one of your own people with power and influence would do worse. Your national leader does not control his country strongly, and your planet has not been without war since humans were enough numerous to have them, even if it was not always on the television or in the newspaper." Hammond looked a little ashamed. "If we ally ourselves with you, we commit ourselves to sharing technology with you, our information, and our best soldiers, while making ourselves more of a target than we already are. Tell me truthfully, General Hammond, what can the people of Earth offer us that we need so badly?"
Hammond had learned not to flounder visibly, but inside he was searching for answers. "Trade, perhaps."
"Trade is not truly a concern of our government. It is the concern of the private businesses. But the trade will be in goods and services and tourism, not guns and bombs. You think our weapons are better; they are merely different. In terms of destruction, the Goa'uld ones are very effective, perhaps better than ours, and you have access to those through your own efforts, and through the Tok'ra. We do not need space to settle; we have plenty. We have enough spaceships. We have medicines, food, and now we have a Stargate. There is nothing material you can offer us that will make an alliance seem such a brilliant idea the talk will finish before I have grey hairs."
"Nothing material, you said," he latched on to the last part. "What did you mean by that?"
"Alliance is one thing, friendship another," she said. "But I cannot speak for the leaders of my people. It will be their choice."
"They will judge us on your report."
"General, I cannot lie by omission. I will not be allowed to. On something this important, I will be facing a number of people to whom I must tell all the truth. Then they will start to judge."
"How many people do you have to talk to?"
"There is - what would you say, a military tribunal - I must account for the dead soldiers and speak of how they fought, and that will be long. They will wish to know of the Goa'uld and Jaffa, what they are capable of, and of your own people. The scientists will wish to learn all they can of both that world we never named, and this one. The doctors will wish to examine me. The Jedi will have their own hearings, where I must answer for the death of my teacher. There will most likely be politicians as well to speak to, and news people, then I must also see the families of the dead and tell them how my team died. I am the sole survivor; it is my duty." Her voice was flat and expressionless, but her face fore-spoke how harrowing it would be. "Then there will be people to whom I must teach English, if I can, and other things - smaller ones, like accounting for lost equipment. That will take time, especially the language teaching. Also, my people love to talk. A final decision on even opening negotiations will rest with politicians, not soldiers or Jedi or scientists, and no quick decision will be made."
"Is there nothing we can do to help?"
"I would like to take some books back with me. A dictionary, to start. It will help."
"That's it?"
"I must go home alone. We have our own defensive systems, not like your iris, but effective. My team has not reported and will be presumed dead. If anyone comes back with me, they will be killed before I have time to tell them not to shoot."
"You could radio through a signal."
"They would shoot anyway. No one cannot be broken, not even Jedi." She said it matter-of-factly. "Or controlled, or drugged, or the voice imitated. We know, when we leave, that our lives will not be valued above that of the safety of our people."
"I wouldn't like to serve in a place like that. We look after our own."
"As do we. But for you, 'our own' has many meanings. It can mean everyone, or just Americans, or just soldiers, or just people you command. For us, it means all. All our people. Not just soldiers, or our friends. The farmers and shop-keepers and builders and children and old people have the explorers outnumbered. We serve to protect them, not to be exalted above them." She shook her head.
"So you're saying there's nothing you can do?"
"I shall tell the truth, General. And I give you my word that I will cause your people no harm that I can prevent. I will not willingly endanger the lives of those who have helped me, or who have done nothing to me." She slid across the bed to stand firmly on the ground. "We should leave now."
"You want to leave now? I can… hey!" She grabbed his elbow and towed him out. "What are you doing?"
"If those men coming down the hall in armour, thick boots and with very big guns are here to take my temperature, I shall eat my own boots."
"I don't think you'll need to," they zigged down a side corridor. "Doctor Jackson!" General Hammond hailed the wandering archaeologist. "This way, please."
"I was just on my way to see you," he said. "I've been, ah, going back over my notes of your language…"
"It'll have to wait, doctor," Hammond said. "We've got problems… yes, Colonel Samuels, what is it?"
The brown-haired young man waiting in the passage-way saluted. "General, we're here on orders from the Pentagon…"
Varielle had gone rigid, scared as a deer in headlights.