I was planning to post this in the morning, but our Internet connection was down so I couldn't do it before work. Sorry!
ChiaraHhue's review pretty much nailed the root cause of Rodney's current unpleasantness, by the way. He's worried, scared, feels helpless and can't do anything to help his friends, and he reacts to it by being thoroughly obnoxious. It's one of his coping mechanisms.
Impact plus 7 hours 0 minutes
The slender gray fingers were trembling. Novak wasn't sure when she first noticed that. Her own hands were shaking too, from a combination of cold, pain and weariness, causing the beam of her flashlight to jitter as she tried to hold it steady for Hermiod. She thought at first that it was a trick of the light, but as she handed the Asgard engineer, her fingers accidentally brushed his -- no, its, she reminded herself; the Asgard were genderless -- and she felt the tremor in him.
"How are you doing, anyway?"
At first Novak thought that Hermiod hadn't heard the question, or was deliberately ignoring it. The Asgard's rapport with the humans around him was tenuous at the best of times, and over the last few hours his only communication with her had been an occasional order to pass him a tool or to move the flashlight. So, when he didn't respond, she repeated herself: "How are you? Are you all right?"
After a moment, though, the bald gray head swiveled towards her. "I do not have time for human pleasantries at the moment, Dr. Novak."
"No, I'm serious. I hadn't really thought to ask you, I guess -- after the crash, if you were hurt, and I also thought, since you don't wear clothes, that the cold might be ..." Under that penetrating dark stare, she trailed off into silence, and looked away. "Sorry. I guess you would have said something."
After a moment, Hermiod said in an almost curious tone, "You are the first human who has asked me."
Novak darted a glance back at him. "Asked you?"
"If I am ... all right. Even your doctor did not."
"She was probably busy with injured people, and you don't look like you're hurt." Encouraged by the somewhat-positive response, and feeling a little braver, Novak asked, "And, are you? Hurt, that is."
"Not in any serious way," the Asgard assured her. "I have a few bruises, but am not severely injured, not even as much so as you." The bald head dipped to indicate her cast. "The cold, however, is ... difficult. Not as much so as it is for your people, but it is still something that I am not accustomed to."
"I could find a coat for you, if you'd like."
There was the briefest hesitation before Hermiod inclined his head. "That would be most helpful."
As she climbed awkwardly up into the ventilation shaft, Lindsey was kicking herself for not having thought to even ask him. Come on, Novak, she berated herself. The guy's fixing the ship to save all of your butts, and nobody even asks him if he got hurt in the crash? Nobody offers him a coat? That's just crazy.
It was almost completely dark outside, with just a few streaks of light in the sky over the mountains. Lindsey clutched her jacket about herself as she hurried to the cargo bay and climbed up inside -- to find herself facing a rifle. She let out a small EEP! and went into a fit of hiccups. Crap ... always the worst possible time ...
"Oh, it's Dr. Novak," said one of the other guards, and the soldier lowered his rifle and reached a hand down to help her up.
"Don't you know you aren't supposed to be out without an escort?" he demanded as she got her feet under her.
"What? Why?"
"There's wolves out there," said the other guard, a young woman.
"Giant wolves."
"Giant screaming wolves."
They looked at each other, and nodded.
"Okay," Lindsey said politely, and hurried over to the nearest stack of crates. It was the work of a few minutes to find someone who could point her in Perry's direction, but once she explained the situation, he was more than happy to help her locate a coat for Hermiod.
"Think it'll fit him?" Perry asked dubiously, holding up the military parka. It looked as if it would envelop Hermiod like a very large, puffy sack.
"It's better than being naked," she pointed out. "Um, while I'm at it, he hasn't specifically asked for food and I have no idea how often Asgard need to eat, but --"
"Second row, third crate from bottom."
"Thanks." Asgard did not eat human food; Hermiod had his own supply. Lindsey pocketed some of it and hurried back over to the opening in the side of the cargo bay. As she started to climb out, one of the guards stopped her with his hand on her arm.
"Oh ... you're actually serious? Armed escorts?"
"Dead serious, ma'am. Caldwell's orders."
Lindsey sighed, and consented to be escorted. Her guard dropped her off at the engine room, and she took the parka to Hermiod. "Um, and I brought food for you, too."
This got a long, thoughtful look from the Asgard. Finally he took it, along with the parka, which he then stared at for a moment. Lindsey stared at him, until she figured out the problem. He was trying to puzzle out how to put it on. For a being who clearly gloried in being several orders of magnitude smarter than everyone around him, not being able to understand a very simple piece of Earth technology had to be galling to him.
"Oh, you ... you put your arms in the sleeves, and fasten it around you -- see?" She demonstrated with pantomime, and was happy to see that he got it on the first try. Hermiod was smart, scary smart, and a quick study. He had to be, to successfully live on a ship populated by alien life forms.
She'd never really thought much about what life must be like for Hermiod. She tried to imagine living on a ship with a bunch of Asgard, and found that she couldn't quite imagine how strange it would be. The difficult part wouldn't be so much working with aliens -- Lindsey had always handled that just fine -- as being an alien, an outsider. The realization that no one had even thought to ask Hermiod if he was okay struck her as symptomatic of how much of an outsider he really was among the crew. There was clearly no love lost on Hermiod's end of the arrangement, either ... but, still, it must be a lonely life he led. Lindsey wondered if anyone ever talked to him other than to ask for something.
"Light," Hermiod ordered peremptorily.
Of course, it would be easier to talk to him if he wasn't such a little ... well, jerk most of the time. She had initially assumed that it was simply his alienness that made him seem that way, until General O'Neill had told her that Hermiod was, in fact, kind of an asshole, even for an Asgard. "Smart asshole, though ..." he'd added thoughtfully.
Hermiod started to resume his repairs, then paused. "And when did you last consume food, Dr. Novak?" he demanded of her.
Jeez, had she even eaten since the crash? Everything had been so busy, first with the fire and then with the desperate urgency of repairing the engines before they all froze to death, that she hadn't even thought about it. "Uh ... I don't know?"
Hermiod nodded towards one of the consoles. "I have seen Major Dewey store food supplies under there -- PowerBars, other light consumables for snacking. Sometimes there is even ..." The eyes narrowed a tad in what might be amusement. "... chocolate."
Lindsey studied him. "You watch us a lot, don't you?"
"Only when I am very, very bored." He turned back to his work. "I suggest that you feed yourself before continuing to assist me. I understand humans are prone to making mistakes when they have not fed."
"Um ... okay." As she crossed to the console he'd indicated, Lindsey asked over her shoulder, "Does the parka help? Are you warmer?"
"Much." And though Asgard emotions were difficult to read, she thought she heard genuine relief in that statement. After a moment, with his back to her, he said, "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
------
Impact plus 7 hours 58 minutes
A pitch-black night had fallen, and as the last vestiges of light vanished from the sky, the temperature continued to plummet ... dropping from "freaking cold" to "really, really freaking cold". Being surrounded by scientists, Rodney kept getting updates on the temperature whether he wanted them or not -- right now, according to Dr. Westlake, it was -30C and still falling. Rodney still begrudged the moment of weakness that had made him give away his coat, and it hadn't even won him a single kudo from either Cora the cold-hearted little medic or her harridan of a boss. The medical staff continued to give him dirty looks and treat him like something found on the bottom of their collective shoe.
Rodney wondered how long the night lasted here. It could be a month for all they knew.
The castaways, at Caldwell's direction, had piled crates to block off one end of the cargo bay to try to contain some amount of heat. Personally, Rodney thought it made more sense to retreat to private rooms that were more enclosed, but people wanted to stay together, and the cargo bay was the only area on the ship where nearly 200 people could assemble in one place.
They weren't building fires yet, in the hope that Hermiod would get the power systems back online -- but Rodney noticed that Caldwell had been having burnable items (books, crates, food wrappers) stacked together in a corner of the cargo bay. In the meantime, sleeping bags and blankets had been laid out on the floor, and people huddled in small groups. Some played cards, others talked or slept.
Rodney spent a little time sitting with Elizabeth, but she was still unconscious. All the wounded had now been moved down to the cargo bay, except for Zelenka and Sgt. Packee in the engine room. Medical staff appeared and disappeared, periodically going to check on them. Rodney had learned that Packee and one of the other severely wounded were being hand-ventilated with Ambu-bag ventilators, meant only for short transport of critically ill patients. The Daedalus did not carry any battery-operated ventilators. Rodney watched as the medical staff, already stretched to their limits, trade shifts on the exhausting task.
He really should go check on Radek. Not that he wanted to go out there. But if it was this cold in here, it was probably freezing in the engine room, and ... conscience was a bitch.
Rodney wrapped a blanket around himself, cursing himself once again for giving away his coat, and approached the hole in the side of the ship. Several airmen -- in parkas, of course -- were hanging around the opening with P90s, and two of them jumped up to join him as he peered out into the pit of darkness outside. Ever since Armstrong's alarming news about giant wolves, no one left the ship without an armed escort ... which Rodney was more than happy to accept.
His escort introduced themselves as Airman Seavey and Airman Stark. Rodney recognized Seavey -- she'd spent hours holding Elizabeth's hand on the bridge, and had occasionally come to check on her down here, too. The other one, Stark, was a big guy with red hair and freckles. He barely looked old enough to vote, let alone risk his life in a crash landing on an ice world.
He sounded young, too, his voice high-pitched for such a big guy. "This is really something, isn't it?" he asked, as they crunched through the snow while the two airmen played their flashlights around on the snow, and Rodney tried to stay between them.
"What's something?" Rodney demanded tetchily.
"This. This place. It's ..." The soldier's voice dropped to a reverent whisper. "It's another planet. A true, alien world."
"Obviously this is your first tour on the Daedalus," Rodney commented, drawing the blanket more tightly about his shoulders and trying not to shiver. The wind went straight through blanket, jacket and tac vest, to raise gooseflesh on the skin underneath.
"Yeah, how could you tell?"
He wondered if it was worth dignifying that with a response, decided not to. Besides, Airman Stark was still rambling on.
"And Atlantis -- wow! That place ... I wished we'd been able to spend more than a few days there--"
"Well, considering that it really doesn't look like the Daedalus will be flying anytime soon, you just may get your wish."
Stark blinked, and then continued in the same tone of rapt wonder, while Seavey tried to hide a smile. "It's gorgeous, sir -- you're so lucky to live there! All those windows, that light -- and fascinating people everywhere."
"Even the cultists?" Seavey asked him in a light, teasing tone.
Rodney's head snapped around so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. "What cultists?"
The two young soldiers looked at each other with the guilty expressions of kids who've said too much in the presence of their elders. "Er, I didn't mean anything by it," Seavey explained quickly. "I've had the SGC sensitivity training on different religious practices and I understand that things are done differently out here --"
"We're just not used to it," Stark continued for her.
"Not used to what?"
Stark now looked very, very embarrassed, so Seavey spoke for him. "It was Jimmy here, not me, sir. I didn't actually talk to them. They just, you know, kinda-- proselytized to him a little bit?"
"They weren't too pushy about it, sir," Stark put in. "I guess they'd just heard through word-of-mouth that I'm interested in that sort of thing, and it's true that I am, but mostly because everything is new and different to me here. I wasn't interested in their religion, and we only talked the one time ..."
"And what religion would that be?" Rodney tried to speak slowly and carefully, as if talking to a child or an idiot. He'd gotten too used to spending his day in the company of people who were smarter-than-average: he'd forgotten how frustrating it was to talk to normal schmoes.
Stark was the one who answered him. "Wraith worshippers, sir."
Rodney stopped dead in his tracks. He stopped feeling the cold. For an instant, all he could hear was a rushing sound in his ears.
"Wraith worshippers on Atlantis?"
Both airmen looked surprised at his shock. "It did seem kinda strange to me, sir, but I figured it was just --"
"Names. Names! Who? Who, dammit?" Rodney snapped his fingers rapidly. Good God. Elizabeth was going to have a fit. How compromised had they become?
The two kids -- and they really were just kids, Rodney thought, big kids with guns -- looked frightened and guilty. "I don't know, sir," Seavey said, talking rapidly with fear. "I -- they talked to Jimmy, I didn't know, and I really didn't know it was anything wrong, we've been taught that other cultures are --"
"Names!" Rodney yelled in both their faces.
"Uh ... Dr. Price from botany, she was the one who talked to me," Stark stammered.
Price. Price. Dana Price. She was one of the newer people -- brilliant, but quiet, kind of unfriendly, kept to herself.
Damn.
"Who else?"
"I -- I don't know, sir, really. Just Dr. Price. Like I said, we had a friendly conversation in the commissary, and she -- she told me not to talk about it to anyone, because Atlantis has a rule that forbids religious proselytizing, but she said she really wasn't doing that, just letting me know about her beliefs because she thought I might be interested, but Weir can be really strict about that stuff and she didn't want to get in trouble --"
Trouble. Oh, she was in trouble, all right ... the little traitor. How? How? Rodney couldn't believe that such a thing had gone on in his department, right under his very nose. He realized that he was shaking, mostly with anger.
Wraith worshippers in Atlantis. And possibly on the Daedalus too.
"And what did she tell you about her beliefs, Jimmy?" Rodney asked in a quiet, deadly voice.
Even though Stark was nearly a head taller than the scientist and carrying a machine gun, he took a step backwards. "Uh ... just some stuff, sir ... she told me that it was us humans who were the ones who started the war, and the Wraith are actually more advanced beings who were going to come and show us how to live because the end times are coming, but now they're having to fight us, and if we can learn to live in peace then they--"
Rodney just stared. How could anyone -- "And you bought that bullshit?"
"Well, not -- not really, sir, but I could tell she really believed in it, and it really didn't sound any weirder than some of the stuff they talk about at my great-aunt's church, the end times and all ... it seemed harmless enough."
"Harmless? The Wraith are life-sucking monsters! We're at war with them!"
Stark stared at his feet and then at Seavey, but she didn't seem willing to give him any help. "Well, sir, I just thought -- I've heard that, yeah, but I've never actually seen a Wraith, and they used to say that sort of thing about the Germans during World War II also, sir. I just thought maybe nobody ever tried to understand it from their point of view."
"Their point of view is that we're food, Airman!"
"I've heard people say that, sir," the Airman repeated stubbornly. "I've heard people say things about Iraqis and communists too, sir. It doesn't make it true."
At any other time, Rodney might have admired the kid's dogged determination to keep an open mind. This, however ... this was cultural relativism taken to absurd levels. He took deep breaths, forcing himself calm, reminding himself that neither of these kids knew about the Wraith technology that had sabotaged the Daedalus. If the sabotage wasn't related to the Wraith worshippers who'd talked to Stark, then he'd eat his own shoe.
Dr. Price. And she'd seemed so smart, too. Damn. Damn. Damn.
"Let me tell you something about Wraith worshippers, soldier," Rodney said softly, taking another step forward and seeing both of them retreat. "We've met them out here in the Pegasus Galaxy -- well, Colonel Sheppard has. They serve the Wraith like ... like lapdogs or something. They help them cull worlds. They trick and trap people, and act as spies to lead other human beings to their death -- Sheppard's seen it. I don't know if Dana Price really believes this line of crap about the end times or if she's just scared that she's going to die in the war and wants to be on the winning side -- and there is no winning side, because we've also seen what the Wraith do to their allies when they no longer need them -- but either way, she may have passed along information to the Wraith that will help them kill us. She's a traitor, and I'm not talking out of some kind of misplaced patriotism here. Believe me, I'm not a flag-waving kind of guy, but I want to live, and people like Price are willing to trample everyone around them in order to survive themselves. Even if she doesn't know that's what she's doing. Do you understand?"
Stark still looked rebellious and resentful. Seavey said, almost tearfully, "I never realized there was anything wrong with it, sir. I would have said something if I had known."
"Well, you should have." But done was done. "Listen, I'm freezing my ass off out here, and I want to get inside. Once we're inside, both of you should go straight to Caldwell and tell him what you told me. Nobody else. Just Caldwell." Regardless of how he felt about the man personally, he thought that Caldwell was about the last person on the Daedalus to have been sucked -- so to speak -- into Wraith worship. It should be safe. "And don't talk to anyone else about this, you got it?"
They shared a look. "Well, a few of the others know, too," Seavey said. "Jimmy's the only one that I know the cultists actually spoke to, but you know -- people talk, late at night. There isn't much else to talk about, on a ship like this one."
"Okay, okay, I don't care, just ... be careful, okay? These people are dangerous, I'm not kidding about that. And they might not like the fact that you've been telling people about this."
Seavey, her eyes wide, looked earnest and worried. Stark, though ... Rodney didn't like the look on his face. It was bitter, stubborn. Petulant. Rodney realized suddenly that he didn't want to turn his back on him, not out here in the snow.
But Stark started walking first, forging ahead, and Rodney and Seavey came after. The young woman kept trying to talk to her friend. "Jimmy -- Jimmy, you didn't do anything wrong, you're not in trouble. You didn't know."
Stark stopped at the base of the ship under the ventilation shaft to look back at them. "I think you people take a very black-and-white view of life," he said coldly.
"You know, if after all this is over, you want to get together over beers and complain about the American military presence in pretty much every country on Earth, I'll be your man," Rodney informed him as he clambered awkwardly up into the ventilation shaft. "I'm Canadian, you know -- griping about American cultural imperialism is a national pastime. But out here? The same rules don't apply. Wraith aren't human. You can't expect them to be. Try to treat them like humans and you'll get the life sucked out of you."
With that, he hoisted himself into the shaft and slid down. He didn't want to think about it anymore -- about the times he'd actually seen the life sucked out of people. People he liked.
These kids from Earth, they didn't know. No wonder Wraith worship, or some bastardized derivative, was spreading around Atlantis. They hadn't been through the siege, they hadn't seen firsthand the horror of a hiveship, they hadn't witnessed friends and co-workers killed in front of their eyes. They heard the stories, and they thought it was exaggeration -- the same kind of stereotyping of the enemy that was so common on Earth. Natural human tendency, it was. But in this case, it was true, and their failure to understand that simple fact might just get them killed ... and everyone else on Atlantis along with them.
When they got back, he intended to have a long talk with Elizabeth and Sheppard about having some kind of orientation for new people. Take them to the world where Brendan and Abrams had died, maybe, and show them all those desiccated mummies in cocoons. Let them step through a Stargate and see a freshly culled world, with bloated corpses of infants and sick people lying in the street where they had died after everyone who could have taken care of them had been carried away by Wraith. Show them the little shrine in Teyla's quarters where she wrote down every single name of people she had known who had been taken by the Wraith -- there was a lot of handwriting on that wall, and it was very tiny handwriting.
Seavey slid out of the ventilation shaft behind him. Stark didn't. "I'm sorry about ... everything," she said. "Really, really sorry."
Rodney's first inclination was to berate her for her stupidity. But she just looked so woebegone ... and she had held Elizabeth's hand for hours. Ignorance wasn't a fatal flaw; it could be corrected. "You didn't know," he said shortly.
"I think Jimmy went back. He's ... kind of upset."
"He might get himself killed," Rodney said. "I'm not kidding about that, Seavey. Wraith worshippers are genuinely dangerous. And we're awfully isolated, with no sign of help on the way."
Seavey just nodded. "I'll be careful, and go straight to Caldwell -- when we get back. In the meantime, I'll wait here until you're ready to leave, to escort you back." She sat down at the base of the ventilation shaft with her P90 over her knees.
Rodney wished that she'd just go now, but on the other hand, it was nice to have the additional protection from wolves and whatnot. He looked around the room, taking in the changes since the last time he'd been here. Sgt. Packee's secluded corner had sprouted more equipment -- a portable defibrillator and a bristling nest of IVs, among other things. In the middle of it all, Cora, the blond medic who was still wearing his coat, knelt with an Ambu-bag, squeezing and releasing as she counted softly. An armed guard stood next to her; there was another over by Hermiod.
Rodney did a double-take when he saw the Asgard. Hermiod was wearing a parka. It took all his limited self-control not to burst out laughing. The hem swept the floor like a very clumsy dancer's skirt whenever the slender alien moved, and long gray fingers poked out of the sleeves, dancing lightly across equipment. Oh, if only he had a camera.
Novak hovered at Hermiod's shoulder like a shadow ... an exhausted-looking shadow with one wrist in a cast, holding a flashlight. She was gnawing on what looked like a Snickers bar. The engineers were hoarding chocolate? And they hadn't shared it with him? Selfish bastards...
Rodney considered going to Hermiod with his new information, but decided against it. He really hadn't learned anything solid. There were Wraith worshippers on Atlantis, and it stood to reason that they were behind the sabotage, but this didn't tell them anything new. They still couldn't trust anyone on the Daedalus unless proven otherwise. And the Asgard had his hands full, trying to fix the ship.
He headed in Radek's direction instead. The Czech scientist had acquired another IV in the other arm, and a couple other bits of random apparatus as well. He appeared to be asleep, but raised his head when Rodney sat down next to him.
"Having a nice chess game somewhere, Rodney? Maybe you stopped to redesign the Daedalus's plumbing?"
"I've been helping dig Elizabeth out of a pile of rubble, Radek."
Zelenka's face changed instantly, from teasing mock-annoyance to concern. "Dr. Weir? How is she?"
"She's ... stable." Then again, so was Zelenka, and Rodney hardly considered him a poster child for good health at the moment. "We're all gathered in the cargo bay now. It's very cozy. I expect someone's going to start a game of charades at any moment, at which point I will be forced to overcome my natural aversion to violence and shoot them. Also, there are Wraith worshippers on Atlantis, just so you know."
Radek's sleepy blue eyes blinked slowly as he processed this. "I think you'd better back up a bit, Rodney."
So Rodney gave him the whole story of Stark's revelations outside. Radek listened quietly, and at the end he said, "Dana Price. I don't know her that well."
"I don't think anybody does. Admittedly, I'm not the sort of boss who holds ice cream socials and knitting bees, but I really don't think she goes out of her way to make friends. She practically lives in the botany lab. Dr. Brown would probably know her a little better ..." He'd spent the last six months studiously avoiding Katie Brown, and did not intend this to change anytime in the near future.
"Well, at least we have a motive now."
Rodney snorted. "To the extent that Wraith worshippers have motives. 'What's my motivation? Oh wait, I'm crazy.'"
"But we have a better idea of why someone might have sabotaged the Daedalus," Radek said patiently. "If you'll recall, we established earlier that the idea was to stop the ship without doing any damage -- it was just the saboteur's, and our, rough luck that it dropped out of hyperspace right in front of a planet. If it's Wraith worshippers, then that does make sense ... they want to hand over Asgard hyperspace technology to the Wraith."
"Rodney." Radek's forehead furrowed in a concerned frown. "Doesn't that mean there would be Wraith on the way here?"
They looked at each other. Radek cursed softly in Czech.
"My sentiments exactly." Rodney swept a glance around the quiet, nearly-dark room. "You know, it's been eight hours since we crashed, give or take a little. I'm starting to think ..."
He trailed off into silence, but Radek nodded. "...Help is not coming. And I begin to think you are right."
"I mean, the odds are, if you'll pardon the pun, astronomical." Rodney waved his hand in the air, punctuating his words. "Do you know how many systems in this galaxy there must be without Stargates? And even if there is a gate in this system, they'd have to find us in order to use it ... and the amount of territory they'd have to cover in order to do that is, well, astronomical again. And we haven't heard a thing from Atlantis in eight hours. I'm not hopeful, Radek."
Zelenka's voice was very quiet. "It will be difficult for you, if they do not come."
Rodney frowned at his wording. "For us, Radek ... for us."
Zelenka shook his head, with a small smile. He gestured at his shoulder with the hand that could still move. "Rodney, I am a realist. They have no tool that can cut this out of me, not without electricity. What should they do, use a hacksaw? I do not think I will survive having it pulled out of me by brute force, and as I sit here, I can feel myself growing weaker. Carol has mentioned the possibility of blood clots as well. I cannot last here forever."
"You don't have to." Zelenka's fatalism left Rodney feeling weak and scared. "Just until Hermiod gets the power back online. And that'll be soon."
"It has been eight hours, Rodney. I do not think it will be soon enough."
"Look, shut up and get some sleep." His voice sounded rough to his own ears -- the hoarseness of swallowing back tears that he refused to shed. "If you're that weak, then why are you wasting energy talking to me? Oh ... and I need to make sure your feet aren't frozen, because otherwise Ling will stick needles in me. The woman hates me, Radek."
Zelenka smiled weakly. "And I am sure you're an innocent victim, having given her no cause at all to hate you." He moved each of his feet individually. At some point, someone had tucked a blanket around them, so the only result was a twitch beneath the fabric. "See? Warm and mobile. I can even move my toes."
"Good. That's good. Now go to sleep."
"Hmph. You are a poor nurse, Rodney." Zelenka's head lolled back against the wall. It had obviously been taking him some effort to participate in the conversation.
"Luckily it's not my life's work, then, isn't it?"
Zelenka's lips twitched, then became serious. He spoke without opening his eyes. "Rodney, you told me once that you have a sister. I have a sister, too, and two brothers as well."
"Oh, no way, Radek --"
"I would appreciate if you could tell them ..." The smile was back, softening his face. "Tell them I died saving children, would you?"
"Radek, you hate children."
"So do you." There was no venom in the tone; it was more affectionate than anything else.
"I think you should shut up now, Radek, before you make even more of a fool of yourself."
"Hmmm." A soft sound, as he drifted towards sleep.
Rodney leaned back against the wall and drew his knees up against his chest, presenting a small huddled ball against the cold. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Radek sleeping -- see his friend's chest rising and falling.
Damn it. Elizabeth ... and Radek ... and he was so tired of this, so utterly tired of this absurd situation. It was like something out of a Reader's Digest article -- Drama in Real Life: Struggle for Survival on Glacier -- and at the end, everyone would be recovering from their frostbite in the hospital and the ordeal would be over. The book would be closed, and all the participants would presumably get on with their lives -- weary, damaged mentally and physically, but they never talked about that in the survival stories, did they?
Rodney let his face sink down onto his knees. He was exhausted and hungry, and Seavey was waiting for him; he needed to go back and talk to Caldwell, get something to eat, maybe get some sleep. And watch his back for Wraith worshippers, and watch Radek die by inches and ... God, he was so damn tired.
From across the room, Airman Keisha Seavey watched quietly as Rodney's body slowly relaxed and his head slid sideways, coming to rest eventually on Zelenka's uninjured shoulder. She smiled a little, and resettled her P90 across her knees. She didn't know much about this new galaxy in which she now found herself, and she couldn't do much to help, but she could stand guard over these civilians who had turned out to be so fascinating and likable. And that, she would do, as long as she was able.
------
TBC