Chapter 5: She said, she said
She's hugging me, John thinks numbly. Why is she hugging me?
Hugging him and telling him she is happy to see him, she was worried, they were all worried. They had begun to think he would not come.
Jeanie releases him after he awkwardly pats her on the back, and she turns to the door. She puts a hand on the handle, but does not push the door open. "We're all glad you came. It's been hard, not knowing for so long. I tried to find you, to ask you, but for years you were on the move and the Air Force wouldn't say a word. The minute you retired, I pounced on it. No one could tell me. I've wanted to know what happened, and now…you're here, and I'll be able to get the remaining answers."
She is no longer smiling. Like the rain, John will make everything lose its lustre. "I received your letters," he offers, knowing it isn't the right thing to say because he never answered them.
Jeanie releases the door handle and moves toward him, returns to the hugging. Her voice is soft in his ear. "I'm glad you're here, John. You don't know what it means to us."
This is the part where John tells her he's happy too, the part where he confesses, as convincingly as he can, that he's glad he came too. Enclosing her in the circle of his arms, he cannot lie. "I'm sorry," he whispers intensely. "I'm sorry." Jeanie has to understand, he needs for her to understand.
"Don't be," she says, hugging him tighter, almost fiercely. "You don't have to be sorry. You're all here. This is a good day. It's a beautiful day."
John hears her halted breathing in his ear, fighting with the heavy splatter of the rain and the sound of his own heart, beating, beating, beating. The perfect day, she says while sobbing in his arms and getting wet from the cold rain because the wind has changed its path. He contemplates the cold, the rain, the crying.
"Yeah," he agrees, if only so she hears it.
O-O-O-O-O
Later, when the night was moonless and tranquil, John sat and contemplated the silence that only the steady snores from the bunks disturbed. Inner peace had not been achieved in so long, not since his first dance with death, the first vacant eyes he ever had to shut, but tonight the outside world was calm. He did not expect peace, either internal of external, only wanted to stop feeling this way. Hurt, afraid, stuck in a city that would not respond to him any longer. No database, no gate, no control whatsoever.
He had been happy, for some time. Content, satisfied, perhaps even fulfilled. Regardless of the Wraith, the Genii, the malfunctions and weather anomalies, he had been home. They had all been his people, she had been his city, and they could have done so much good, they could have erased the biggest blunder in history, vanquished the Wraith after having woken them. They could have freed this galaxy, of that he had no doubt, but it was all gone and only the Wraith remained. His amazing city, his extraordinary people: gone.
Gone just as Rodney would be, and if he thought John had not seen him slipping out of bed, he was insane.
"McKay."
The buck froze in the beam of the flashlight. He did not turn. John sighed and got up from his seat. The light showed him rounded shoulders, a lowered chin.
"Where' you going?"
The back straightened, the shoulders stiffened. "Washroom," Rodney said, tonelessly.
"Right." It was not far, not at all, just next door. Fifty-step roundtrip at most. John sat back down and turned the flashlight off. He heard the shuffle of Rodney's sock-clad feet growing fainter. John hated this paranoia, this mother-henning. Where are you? What are you doing? Where are you going? He needed to know. If he thought he could get away with it, he would tie everyone to his belt. Keep them close, follow a string when he needed to find them. They would always be there, at the end of the string. He would just have to tug, wait for them to tug and he would know they were still there. Alive enough to tug. One Tug to rule them all, One Tug to find them, One Tug to bring them all and in the darkness bind them. John liked the idea of a Ruling Tug and sniggered in appreciation. If only it didn't make him appear to be a completely hysterical dork, he would do it and explain it just like that.
Sighing, John closed his eyes and let his head fall against the wall. He was obsessing; it was not healthy, but seeing Rodney shuffle along, mumbling to himself, fingering that damn crystal he carried everywhere put John's failures in high relief. McKay had barely spoken to them today, was nowhere to be seen after breakfast. He had barely eaten, only worked. Chair room, Chair room, Chair room, that was where he spent his hours. He did not do anything. The Chair did not work, but he sat in it for hours, typing on his datapad once in a while. McKay was not the guy whom John thought would break like that. He had his moments of panic, but he always came through and carried on.
John sighed again. How did it come to this? Where did they go so wrong? Oh, no, there it was. The hurt. The overwhelming grief. So many. He bent forward, his hand fisting, his arms coming around himself, holding the misery inside. His eyes were shut tightly and he took particular notice of his breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
John saw their faces clearly in his mind. Those he knew well, those to which he smiled and nodded. His men, his scientists. Living here, taking possession of the most beautiful place in the universe. Curious, loyal, safe in the gentle cradle of the floating city.
Bent, John opened his eyes and turned his head toward the balcony. He needed to let this out. He could not keep pretending, being strong. He needed it.
Rising, he pushed his chair back and went on the hunt for a balcony. He stepped out onto the first one he came across and leaned against the railing. His eyes were on the water that he barely saw, for the night darkened everything in its path. He did not see the waves, but he heard then, smelled them. He hated it, because she, too, was a danger.
He spoke quietly, a running commentary of pain, loss and imbalance. Invectives, curses, foul words he hoped the Ancients could hear. They had allowed this. They had done this to him; broken him, taken him to the edge and back only to leave him hanging there, fingers scrambling to hold on.
To hold on to what they had deigned to leave him. He had not done this; it was not his fault, but perhaps, if he had not joined the expedition, if he had not woken the Wraith. If he had not been misguided all his life.
After long minutes, John realised that foul words did not help anyone. It did not feel good, it was not freeing, but he cursed one more time before letting his hands wrap around the railing, his arms flex, his back stretch, his eyes close.
"Good?" Carson asked from behind.
Startled, John spun around, but did not answer.
"Feeling better?"
John shook his head. "Is McKay back?"
Carson shook his head in answer and John straightened, trailing a gentle finger on the railing, out of habit. "I'll go look for him."
"I'll come with you."
"No, you go back to bed."
"Nobody expects you to be a rock, John. You don't have to be the lonely leader." Carson paused. "Shall we?" he added, when all John did was shuffle awkwardly and rub a hand over the back of his head.
"After you."
Unsurprisingly, Rodney was not in the washroom. Even less surprising, he was in the Chair room. What was quite surprising was that he was in the Chair, the reclined Chair.
"I thought Rodney said the major systems were down…" Carson said, frowning. "The gate? The Chair? The database?"
"He did." John approached the Chair and put a hand on Rodney's shoulder. "Rodney! What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Rodney jerked; the Chair straightened and deposited him on the ground. He blinked vacantly for a moment or two, but quickly regained his sharp wit. Standing, brushing invisible dirt from his clothes, Rodney frowned at John. He opened his mouth to speak, but for once was too slow.
"What's this?!"
Rodney blinked slowly, but did not answer.
"Since when does the Chair work? I thought it was down!"
Rodney's face crumbled and it was too wrong. John stepped forward and Rodney stepped back.
"It isn't."
John froze, brain short-circuited by Rodney's quiet admission. He felt Carson move past him, heard the soothing burr asking what he should be saying. "You've fixed it."
"It was never broken," Rodney said, sending a resentful glare toward the Chair. He then sighed and his shoulders slumped, his back curled and his eyes locked on the floor. "It was never broken; she just had more control than me."
"Not broken? What do you mean!" Carson said, frowning concernedly. He glanced at John who had not moved from his dumbfounded stillness.
"I didn't mean to let her. It's her job and she does it well. Better than I can do mine."
"Didn't mean to what?" John finally asked, his voice cold and hard.
"She said it would cleanse the city; protect it. I didn't know. Then I tried to stop it, but…I wasn't quick enough."
John stepped forward, grabbed Rodney's arms in a too-tight grip and jostled him. "Quick enough for what, McKay!"
"I didn't know that's what she meant. By the time I realised it, it was too late, she'd taken control and left me in the dark. Us, in the dark. All of us…" Rodney trailed off, folded further into himself.
"Rodney. What have you done?" Carson asked, clearly confused, perhaps denying what he was hearing.
"It wasn't me! It was her! I couldn't stop it!"
John tightened his grip, as it seemed to be the only thing holding Rodney upright. He wanted to let go, watch the man fall to the floor. "Who are you talking about," he spat out, choosing to be angry because it was so much easier.
"Lyhal."
"Who's Lyhal?"
The crystal was held up before John's eyes. "Lyhal. We found her, remember, a few weeks ago, in the box."
"The index?"
Rodney nodded, then shook his head, then nodded again. "It's an AI, not an index. She's the city's watchdog. She primarily functions as an index, but when the city is threatened, she steps up, takes control and fixes it. This limits the strain on the city's system and protects them from unwanted access. Problem is she sees us as having invaded, us, without the natural gene, not you, Carson, Miko, Williams, Levin, Latour and Miller. She doesn't like us, me, we're not like you. She tolerates me. I'm still here because I was in the Chair and facilitated the lockdown. "
"You don't have a natural gene, you should've died too," Carson stated equally, as if it was a simple fact.
Rodney nodded. John tightened his grip, aware that it was hurting Rodney. "You did this."
"No," Rodney said, easing John's tension slightly. "It was her. She needed organic matter to interface with the city. She's embedded in the Chair systems, and I suppose she recognised my genetic makeup. Whatever the reason, she knew I was there and she showed me what I wanted. If you could've seen it. Everything is there."
Tension was back in full-force, bringing along fear, disbelief and horror. This was too much, pushing the limits of what John could endure. Year after year, he had moved on, walked it off, roughed it out, but this. Rodney had done this? Participated in their deaths? John could not believe that.
"And the pulse, was that," John swallowed the scream, "her too?"
"Yeah. She was trying to protect the city. It's what she'd been programmed to do. She just didn't like us, nothing personal, she couldn't like us. She likes you," Rodney said with a wistful smile, "she likes you a whole lot. She took great care to protect you during the lockdown. It made it harder for her because you were in the middle of it all, but you weren't hurt. Everyone was just fine after Carson fixed them up." Rodney smiled tightly at Carson who grimaced back.
"Why didn't you pull the crystal?" the doctor asked.
"I didn't know that she would kill them all. I thought she would…I don't know, fix the broken systems, or activate new ones. I saw threat neutralisation and went with it."
John let go of Rodney's arms. Oh, please, no. Not this. Not Rodney. John could not find the words. He was disgusted, appalled, but so sad. He looked at Carson whose face betrayed the same inner turmoil that was plaguing John. Forget about this, John ordered himself, the city works and there are things to be done. "Can we use the gate?"
"We can use everything. We could always use everything. I just…John. I wanted to find more, know more. There's nothing she can do, now. She wants you here, and she needs me. There's a reason I'm still here."
"You knew. You knew what was happening from the start. You lied to me, and you put us all in danger just to know more!" John turned away from Rodney, trying to calm himself, rein in the boiling fury that was threatening to burn them all. He saw the faces of the departed, transformed by anger and it was all he could do to keep his fists from pummelling Rodney. He did not want to hurt Rodney, but it would feel so good: Rodney had done this and John was going to be sick.
"No! No. You're all safe. She accepts you. If she didn't you would've all died along with the others. You're safe, every one of you. Nothing is going to happen. Look," Rodney said in his 'let's be reasonable' voice, "the more we learn about this place, the more chance we have of defeating the Wraith. We have the retrovirus. Granted it's not the best of plans, but it's the one we have, and one more than the Ancients ever had. We can do this. We can beat them. I just need more time! The AI will allow me to go through the database just like that," he enthused, snapping his fingers.
"Have you gone mad!" Carson exclaimed.
"More time with the AI that killed everyone in this city. You want more time with a murdering machine."
"It's just a crystal." Rodney sighed, stretched his hand out to John and let him see the crystal. When John moved for it, Rodney closed his hand and took a step back. "You know we can do this. You can do this, you have the strongest gene, I'm sure you just need to ask and she'll give you anything you want. Think about it! ZedPMs, location of other outposts, perhaps even other cities! Ships," Rodney almost yelled out, an excited grin to his face, "we could find more ships! You could have a whole fleet of them!"
John watched Rodney grow more animated, warning up to his sale pitch.
"Are you hearing yourself, Rodney," Carson said, coming closer to the man.
"Yes I am! You know we can do this. We can do this, get rid of the Wraith and preserve the city."
"No, I don't know that. Carson doesn't know that! Neither do you!"
"We can save everyone, how do you not see that!"
"YOU'VE ALREADY KILLED EVERYONE!"
Silence fell heavily over them. Carson watched, horror-stricken, but John had eyes only for Rodney, who backed away as if he had been hit. The surprise was short-lived, quickly replaced by the familiar righteous indignation. "I didn't! Lyhal was just doing her job; I was just doing my job! It was an error! A malfunction! It wasn't supposed to happen, but it did, and now you're just going to let it mean nothing? We could defeat the Wraith. You can't turn your back on that."
John turned away, fury and disgust battling for control. This had happened before and he had thought Rodney had learned something from the failure of the Arcturus project. He believed in Rodney, trusted him, and that made him a fool. "You don't want to go there, McKay. What you want to do is get the hell out of here, right now."
"But –"
"GET OUT!"
"Come along, Rodney. It's late, we should all get some sleep," Carson said, firmly, almost unkindly.
Standing motionless, John listened to Rodney argue as Carson pulled him away. He sat on the platform that held the Chair and refused to believe that Rodney had crossed the thin line between genius and madness.
He had to, but it was an excruciating thing to allow. Rodney making excuses for what was ultimately mass murder. Not his fault, he had said, just doing his job; a scientist trying to sell an idea, trying to entice with shiny ships and promises of victory.
Where had they gone so wrong?
John's eyes fell to the Chair and he heard Rodney's voice echo in his head: I saw threat neutralisation and went with it.