Chapter 7
No one seemed to know what to say. The silence was thick and heavy and suffocating and almost physically painful. Chloe was unusually sullen and silent, sitting on the floor in a corner, picking at hangnails while Nick worked at putting the console back together. The only noise was the jangling and thuds of his tools. Normally he preferred the quiet. It was easier to concentrate without constantly having to split his focus and maintain a conversation, but there was something about this silence that was unsettling. It didn't fit. Someone should be saying something. The only other person on the bridge was Eli, who had lingered after his shift of babysitting. The kid was staring out the window and pretending he didn't know what Nick was doing. Even he wasn't talking. That was weird. What he was thinking about, Nick couldn't guess. His mother, perhaps. Or everything he missed about home. How much he was looking forward to being back there again.
Nick glanced at Chloe, trying to read her face, but he only found an empty, lifeless mask. She didn't look like she was thinking about anything at all. That was the most unnerving part, because she was always thinking. Ever since the aliens changed her he'd begun to see a lot of himself in her, but now, he couldn't see anything. He had to look away before she caught him staring.
"This is going to sound weird," Eli spoke all of a sudden, looking at him in the reflection of the glass, "but I think in a way you're kind of lucky."
It was something, at least. Nick looked over at him. "Care to explain that?"
Eli shrugged. "Not everyone gets to choose how they die."
What an unusual observation. He stared at him, soaking that in. "Well, that is true."
Chloe snorted. "And this is what you chose?"
"I'd choose old age," said Eli, but he was largely ignored.
"Yes," Nick said slowly, turning his head to Chloe, taken aback by her tone. She was glaring at him. "This is what I chose."
"So you die when it suits you?"
He turned to face her fully. "What?"
She stood from her corner. "You survived the explosion of Icarus. You survived being left on that planet. You survived the aliens. You survived being taken by the Lucian Alliance. And you decide to let a stupid alien parasite take you out?"
He went silent, staring. Even Eli looked surprised. "Chloe-"
"You know, I don't understand you," Chloe said. "First, you strand us all here. Then you promise to get us home, only to lie to everyone about the first Icarus planet. Then you risk your life by going up against the Lucians, then you lie to everyone again about the bridge, then you kill Riley, and then you kill Simeon, then you stay behind to let Future-Us go through the wormhole, and then, after getting us a new way to get home, you decide to kill yourself?"
This was, needless to say, not how Eli had expected the conversation to go. Nick wished he hadn't said anything. "Chloe, what-"
She stormed for the door. "You're impossible!"
"Hey, wait!" Eli protested.
Nick watched her go, bewildered. What was that all about?
"She's probably just tired," Eli offered. "And plus we've been in here for a few hours without a break, so maybe she's just…hangry." He shrugged.
Nick shook his head. "No. This is something different." He maneuvered around the console and jogged up the stairs, hurrying out to catch up with her. When he got down to the lower floor she was halfway down the corridor.
"Chloe!" he called for her. She ignored him and kept going. He moved after her. "Chloe, stop."
She whirled around. "What, Rush? What do you want?"
He halted. This wasn't like her. She hadn't called him Rush in a very long time. "What's the matter with you?"
"Ha!" she laughed out. "What's the matter with me? Is that your attempt at caring?"
"What?"
"Leave me alone!" She turned and began walking again. Or stomping, more like. He watched her go, lost.
What brought that on? He thought briefly about chasing her down, but he knew there was no reasoning with her when she was like this and all it would do is exhaust him. He turned to go back to the bridge, and hesitated. He didn't want to go back up there. Nothing against Eli, but he was exhausting too. So he hovered in the corridor for a few minutes, trying to decide where he wanted to go or who he wanted to see. Right now, no one. He actually just wanted to be alone.
And that gave him something like an idea.
He went to the kino dispenser, ducking and dodging every person he saw in his path on the way. Checking to make sure he was alone, he took one of the kinos and began to walk away again, then hesitated, turned, and grabbed several more. He sneaked back to his own quarters and settled onto his bed, held one kino in his hands, and stared right into the camera.
*Record*
"I am Doctor Nicholas Rush. I was the lead scientist on Icarus Base before the Lucian Alliance attack destroyed the planet. I have been on Destiny for five years, and I've just been fired…"
He stopped, then scoffed and deleted the file. He brought the kino up and tried again.
*Record*
"My name is Doctor Nicholas Rush, lead scientist on Icarus Base."
He paused again, trying to remember what Eli had told him the first time he tried to make him do this. "Just say what you feel."
Facing the kino, he said, "I feel…numb."
He saved the file. Then he pulled the others toward him and lined them up in a row. With a black marker he wrote a name on each one: Colonel Young. Lt. Johansen. Eli. Chloe.
He spent the rest of the morning in solitude, talking to the kinos.
—
Name. Date of birth. Place of birth. Social Security Number. Marital status. Number of children. Employment history. Education. Criminal history. Height. Weight. Eye color. Scars, marks, or tattoos. Known allergies. Everything the government needed to know about who you were, where you were from, and how to find you. Most of the fields were blank, and Camille watched Colonel Young scan the document again and again with his eyes.
"Hmph. I'm surprised he gave you this much," the colonel muttered. Camille just nodded. "In case of emergency, contact…" He looked up at her. "Lieutenant Johansen? Really?"
She shrugged and shook her head. "I explained that question to him. That's all he'd give me."
Young put the file aside. "So what, then? He doesn't have any emergency contacts? Family? Friends? Next of kin, anything?"
She shrugged again. "Not that he told me. But this is just what I gave everyone here on the ship. He has a full file back in D.C."
"I'll probably have to have a look."
"It's confidential," said Camille. "I'll go."
Young raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the file she had just let him read.
"There's nothing useful in there."
He shook his head. "All right. Soon. There has to be someone we can notify. Someone to arrange his affairs."
"Should we send him back with me?"
He shook his head. "Can't risk it. T.J. says he could drop at any moment and it would be too dangerous to have someone else in his body if that happens. We'll let him know what we're doing, but he can't be involved."
"Well, depending on how it goes we might need him to go for a short time at least." She took a moment to ponder. "Did you ever find out if it's legal to sign papers in someone else's body?"
Young snorted. "No. But I'd be interested to learn."
She stood up from the chair, recollecting the papers and straightening them before sliding them back in the folder. "I'll find out for you."
"Thanks."
"We should go talk to Rush now."
He nodded, and they went together to find him. And find him they did, in the control interface room, alone.
The colonel was instantly angry. "What are you doing?" he demanded.
Rush hit a button and his screen went blank. "Well, not working, if that's what you're worried about."
Young shook his head. "Why are you here by yourself?"
Rush sighed. "Don't worry, Colonel. It's Lieutenant Scott's turn at the moment, and he said he would only be gone for a few minutes."
"Why didn't you go with him?"
Rush raised an eyebrow. "I didn't want to."
"Rush-"
"Here he comes," Rush said, and Matthew jogged into the room. He grimaced when he saw the colonel and immediately began apologizing.
"Sorry, sir, I had to, uh…" He shifted and made a face.
Gist gotten, Colonel Young sighed. "Fine. That's…whatever. Anyway, Rush, we need to talk."
Rush looked from the colonel to Camille, then leaned back and crossed his arms. "All right. What's this about?"
Camille was in HR mode. "I know this probably isn't what you want to be thinking about right now, but we need to make sure there is someone on Earth who is aware of your…condition. I'm going to try to use the stones to access your personnel file, but I don't know if any of those files were lost in the Lucian Alliance attack."
He didn't react.
"We need to know who to contact."
He sighed and nodded. "Her name is Constance. Last name Michaelson. She's a law professor - or, she was, as of a few years ago - at Berkeley in California. She's an attorney and the executor of my estate."
Camille nodded, committing those details to her memory. "All right, very good. I'll try to explain the situation to her as best I can. We may need to bring her on board."
He shrugged.
"Anything in particular I need to know?"
He shook his head.
She asked her next question carefully. "Any family I need to notify?"
He shook his head again, more slowly this time.
"Okay. I'll go now and I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Good luck."
Camille left the room with Colonel Young, who made some comment to Rush about being less obvious, at her heels. They went immediately to the communications lab, and after several trips back and forth to secure permissions and arrange for a woman for her to switch with, Camille was on her way to Berkeley.
On the plane from D.C., while her laptop booted up, she stared out the window to the ground thousands of miles below. It was always strange to her, seeing the tops of mountains way down there as if they were anthills. Seeing the clouds from above was always a thrill. She used to wonder as a child how birds felt about seeing everything below them from so far away.
Her computer beeped, prompting her to sign in. She did. She brought up the remote desktop to access the personnel files located in IOA HQ, smiling when she noticed that the files were uncorrupted. She had heard that the server had been damaged, but she saw that the only file she really cared about right now had been spared. She twice-clicked on Rush, N.
Nicholas Andrew Rush. April 14, 1961. Glasgow, Scotland. Widowed. She scrolled slowly, seeking any valuable input, she told herself. Not to learn more about the man who liked to keep secrets. No children. No criminal record. Brown eyes. Five-foot-seven. No known allergies.
The second page of the file was Nicholas's picture taken for his security badge. He hadn't changed much. The third page was his emergency contact information, and Camille browsed through the history of changes.
Interesting. When he'd first been recruited he had listed a Gloria Rush for his emergency contact. After that it had been changed to one Joseph Rush, and then again to Constance Michaelson. Camille hovered over the names. A text box appeared explaining that Gloria was Nicholas's wife, and Joseph was his father. Each one had a picture file attached, and Camille smiled. Nick looked very much like his father, and his wife was beautiful. Both of them had dates of death listed beside their dates of birth.
She sighed. Nick's father and his wife both had passed away while he was working on the Icarus project. And he never told anyone.
She was starting to think this was a mistake. What was she thinking, taking on this task herself? She was HR, sure, but that didn't make her Supergirl. She cared for the people of SGC, and for those people on the ship more so than the others, even the ones who were difficult to like. But that's what made this so hard. She always tried to infuse the human element into everything she did when dealing with people, but getting too attached was something she had been struggling with for all of her life. She cared. And she knew someone who was dying or losing a loved one wouldn't want to receive the cold detachment of someone who didn't know them.
That would have been easier. Sending someone else who was already on Earth to inform Constance Michaelson. Let them deal with it. But that wasn't Camille. So here she was, on this airplane, flying across the country to give some very bad news to a woman she had never met.
She closed the laptop.
Upon landing in California, she found that there was a car waiting for her. They drove in silence to Berkeley. Camille found herself slightly overwhelmed at the size of the university campus, but she pretended to know where she was going as she wandered around, eventually stopping to ask if they knew whether Constance Michaelson still worked there. Yes, she was told, and directions were given.
She found Ms. Michaelson in her office. The door was ajar. Camille knocked, and entered fully upon the permission to come in.
Sitting at the desk was a pretty woman with dark skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. Camille recognized her from her picture. "Constance Michaelson?" she said.
Constance stood to greet her but did not smile. "Yes? May I help you?"
"My name is Camille Wray." She handed her a letter signed by General O'Neill explaining the situation.
She watched the woman's eyes drop briefly before rising again. "Your uniform says Baldwin."
Oh, dear, how was she going to explain this? She should have called first. Camille smiled to ease the situation. "Yes, it does. I'm borrowing the uniform. My name is Camille and I work for the IOA. In the Human Resources department, not the military."
Constance squinted one eye. "All right," she said in a way that told Camille she didn't even know what IOA was. While reading the letter, she asked, "How can I help you?"
"Do you know Nicholas Rush?"
Constance's eyes widened. Bingo. "Nick? Yes, I know Nick. Is something wrong? Where is he? I haven't been able to reach him for years!"
"He's all right," Camille said automatically, then instantly regretted it when Constance's face brought forth a smile. She really was out of practice. "He's…well, to be honest, he's in a bit of a situation. He needs your help."
Constance frowned now. "What kind of a situation? Legal trouble?"
Well, yes, according to what the colonel had told her. But Camille shook her head. "Not entirely. You are the executor of his estate, correct?"
All at once, Constance seemed to realize the purpose of this visit. "No." She shook her head. "I mean yes, I am, but…Nick is…?"
Camille was forced to nod. "Yes, I'm afraid he is. He's fallen ill and the situation is grave. You are his emergency contact and he said that you are also his executor. He will have need of your services as soon as possible."
Constance reached for a tissue on her desktop, blotting her eyes. "What happened? Where is he right now?"
How to answer that? "I'm afraid there's a lot we need to tell you. We need you to come to D.C. right away."
Constance hesitated. "Right away? You mean, right now? Today?"
"Yes. We have a car already outside waiting."
The poor woman looked distraught, pacing and shaking her head, glancing at the letter again and then back at Camille. "I can't, not right now. I have a class this afternoon and I have meetings with clients, and I have…" She looked back at Camille. "How grave?"
She hesitated. "Very, very grave. He's dying, ma'am. He could pass away at any time."
Constance fell into her chair. She patted her eyes and blew her nose. "I can't believe this. Nick…What's he doing in D.C.?"
Questions, questions, questions. And so few answers. "I can explain it on the way, but please understand that this is very highly classified. As an attorney I'm sure you can appreciate discretion."
Constance nodded. "Of course." She thought for a few moments more, then nodded and rose to her feet. "All right. Just give me a few minutes to make arrangements. How long will I be gone?"
"We will try to get you back as soon as possible, but I would allow a few days. I don't know how long this is going to take."
Constance wiped her nose and nodded. "All right. All right. Would you excuse me, please?"
Camille went outside to wait. She could hear Constance making several phone calls and several apologies, and soon the woman was joining her in the hallway with a go bag.
"I'm ready," Constance said.
They hurried to the car.
—
It had been a long time since Nick felt safe in any environment. It wasn't that he was in constant fear for his life, though that was happening more and more lately, but he was always in constant fear of something - injury or damage to himself, his reputation, his career. On Icarus, he was protected by the military, but Colonel Telford had spent the months eroding his authority and trying to get him removed from the team. Here on Destiny, he always felt someone watching him, plotting against him, laying traps and setting snares. He had to move like a ghost, unseen, unheard, or else be captured. If it wasn't some member of the crew wanting to kill him, it was the ship itself or some hostile alien. He lived in terror of the colonel every moment he had the tracker in his chest, and then for weeks, months after that, fleeing and fighting nightmares in the dark, the horrors in his head. He hadn't been able to fully attain his equilibrium before he had been taken prisoner again, this time by the Lucians. That ordeal brought nightmares of its own. The drones followed, then malfunctioning stasis pods…
Now he knew he was in absolute mortal danger, but while knowing what was coming still left him feeling unsafe, it also made him somehow less afraid. There was no question now what was going to happen in the end. He didn't have to waste time planning and fretting over the possibility of failure because he knew that he wasn't going to survive. The mystery removed, much of the fear was gone.
Except that it brought along its own particular kind of dread.
Most people realize their own mortality at some stage in the game, Eli.
He had never been in a situation he knew he couldn't get out of. When the aliens took him captive, had him trapped in a water tank, he knew he'd escape. He would just have to be smarter than they were, and there was no question about that. When he woke up on that alien planet, abandoned and alone, he knew it was temporary. All he had to do was get the ship operational again. Even during the years after his wife died, when he was slogging through darkness, depression, anger, and despair, he knew he'd find his way out again. Not that he could imagine how such a thing could be possible. He just knew.
It's not a particularly unique experience.
This was a new experience for him. He had never felt so helpless. He was waiting for the end, knew it was coming; didn't know when, only had a vague idea how. But it was coming. Fast. And he couldn't avoid it. He couldn't get away. Couldn't outrun it, outthink it, outnumber it, or outgun it. And he had brought it on himself.
The question is, did it change you?
The fact that it was Dale Volker keeping him company at the moment he had this slightly disturbing revelation didn't help.
"Is there something you'd like to say to me?" he asked out loud. Volker, at his side, had spent the last few minutes staring at him out of the corner of his eye. But now he shook his head.
"No. I don't have anything to say to you at all."
"Then if you'd kindly ignore me, that might work out best for everyone."
"Deal."
He tried to focus on his notebook, but having Dale there was distracting. He couldn't relax and couldn't get comfortable. He tried to hide the shiver that shook him.
"You should have told someone before you did it," Volker said at last.
Nick sighed. "Oh, yeah? And why is that then?"
"So they wouldn't feel so taken by surprise."
He snorted. "If I had told them they wouldn't have let me do it."
Dale shrugged. "Eh. You never know."
For some reason, that stung in a way he never expected. This wasn't the first time this man had used an opportunity to take a dig. "It burns you up, doesn't it? We got along just fine...without you." Normally he couldn't care less about the opinion of Dale Volker, but recent events had made him start to care about all kinds of strange things he never had before. He decided the risk of being alone outweighed the benefits of being in this man's company, and he got up and went for the door of the observation deck.
"You're not supposed to be left alone," Volker called after him, making absolutely no effort to come with him. "Colonel's orders."
"I'll tell him you tried to follow but couldn't keep up."
"Would you still have done it if it were me?" Volker asked from the blue.
Nicholas slowed his pace for one step before proceeding on without answering. He didn't know where he was going, but that didn't stop him from being in a hurry to get there.
"Nicholas?" came the voice suddenly of Camille, and he turned to see her approaching with Lieutenant James. James was staring at him with wide eyes. Suddenly she began to cry, and he didn't know what to do when out of nowhere she stepped up and wrapped her arms around him.
"Um," he said.
"Nicholas, this is Ms. Michaelson," Camille hurried to explain.
He relaxed and recovered quickly enough to give Constance an awkward squeeze. "Ah, I see. Constance, welcome."
She was looking around with huge eyes, taking everything in in fascinated wonder. "Is this for real? Is this actually a spaceship?"
He glanced to Camille, who nodded. "She's been briefed. She knows the situation."
"Yeah," he said to his friend. "This is actually a spaceship. Now you know why I haven't called you back." He winced.
Constance smiled, but the smile swiftly faded. "They told me about your…your illness." Her face twisted again, and tears peeked out of the corners of her eyes. "Nick, I'm so sorry."
He shrugged one shoulder. He had never been terribly close to Constance. She was more Gloria's friend, and they had drifted apart quickly after Gloria died. He kept her as his emergency contact and executor out of respect for Gloria and to avoid the hassle of changing it all again. He changed the subject. "How's Berkeley?"
She laughed a bit. "The same. The students and faculty still talk about you."
He snorted and rolled his eyes.
"Um," Camille said, to remind them of her presence. "I do hate to interrupt, but we may have a very short window in which to do this. Let's go talk in private."
They went to the Mess. Not exactly private, but it was someplace where they all could sit and talk paperwork. He did not fail to notice how Chloe got up and left the moment he walked in.
"So, Nick," said Constance, sliding onto a bench next to him. "Five years is a long time."
He nodded. "I know. I'm sorry. We didn't have time to call first to let anyone know where we were going. Plus it was confidential."
She had the grace to nod. "Of course. But I'm here now. What do you need me to do?"
"Have you checked on the house?"
"Yes," she said. "It sold last year."
"Good."
"And the cars were donated."
He nodded.
"The only thing I wasn't sure what to do with was the stuff in your storage unit."
He shrugged. "It doesn't really matter now. Sell it, or donate it all. I really don't care."
She frowned a little. "There's a lot of Gloria's stuff in there."
He dropped his eyes. Gloria had a lot of stuff, and he hadn't been able to part with any of it up to now. "Fine. Keep whatever you want, but get rid of the rest. I have no use for it."
She smiled. His permission was all she wanted.
"Tell me, is your name still on the bank account?"
She nodded. "Yep."
"How much is there?" he wanted to know. She gave him a rough number. "Good. Here's what I want you to do…"
They sat there for a few hours, hammering out fine details and technicalities. By the time they'd finished it was late into the night, and both Constance and Camille were worn out, so they all agreed to continue in the morning. The next day found them going back and forth to Earth on the stones several times speaking with creditors and banks, and Constance drew up several documents for estate, probate, and will. The Attorney General granted permission for him to sign the papers while in another person's body on account of that they could prove it was indeed his consciousness and there was no alternative since he would not be making it back to Earth. Camille did a commendable job of running interference and shielding him from her superiors in the IOA. Nick learned that Telford, having switched with him each time, spent his time on Destiny following Colonel Young around and was becoming more and more jittery with each swap, afraid the body he was occupying would spontaneously stop living while he was in it.
Before he returned to Destiny for the final time, he took a moment to talk to his friend. "I want to thank you," he told her.
She smiled. "It's what I'm here for. It's what you pay me for." She said the last part with a wink.
He smiled a little too. "Well, yeah, of course that, but what I mean is…I want to thank you for being there for Gloria when I wasn't. I should have been. I wish I had been. She needed someone, and I wasn't there. I'm glad she had you."
Constance lost all smiles entirely. The truth of the situation seemed to be hitting her again, and she drew him into her arms once more. He held her back this time. "She knew how much you loved her."
He nodded. "I know."
"She never doubted. And I know how much she loved you. If she could see you now…Oh, Nick, she wouldn't want you to keep feeling guilty about that."
He nodded again. "I know that."
Constance pulled back and held him at arm's length. "So stop. With the time you have left, try to be happy. Allow yourself to move on from that and find something that makes you smile. For her."
He tried to smile. "I will."
"All right. You should…" She looked at the chair, biting her lip. "You should probably go now."
"Yeah. Colonel Telford is probably getting rather twitchy."
Constance smiled at him through her tears. "Goodbye, Nick."
He took her hand and squeezed it. "Goodbye, Constance." He sat in the chair and closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was back on Destiny in his failing, weakened body once again. Camille and Lieutenant James were waiting to help him walk back to his room, a chore in itself. The whole way there he fought a shudder. He yearned for solitude, for quiet, for space to think, but that hope was smashed when he opened the door and found Brody in a chair by the bed. No, no, no, get out, leave me alone. He bit his tongue to keep from shouting. Colonel Young meant well, but this was not helping. The last thing he needed was someone staring at him all night while he was trying to sleep.
But he was glad that at least it wasn't Volker.
In the end it didn't matter, because he couldn't relax at all under the knowledge that he had just seen Earth for the very last time.