Chapter 25 – The Decision
Caldwell knew that all the plans appearing in his head were useless, and only good for getting himself killed without the tiniest effort. He was alone with a single little knife against two gross Wraith soldiers with stronger spear guns than any human-made weapon. The only plan that seemed possible to carry out was a really foolish one. If he was able to lure one of the guards into his cell, he could use the opportunity to acquire a spear gun and shoot the Wraiths. Well, maybe it sounded promising at first, but on second thought, he saw how miserable his plan was. The Wraith guards were stronger than any human being, it seemed impossible to get their weapon if he did not have much luck. He would have only one chance to try it...
It was hell to sit there and do nothing. He heard Elizabeth Weir's screams, he knew how much she suffered, he knew that she had been tortured for at least half an hour now if not longer, and what did he do to end it? Nothing. He was waiting for some miracle to happen, and he was just sitting there. He began to consider himself as a chicken-hearted coward for not venturing something. Sheppard's team would try it. That thought stirred up dark loathing and disgust in his heart. Hatred against himself and against those damned lucky bastards who survived anything, all the same how impossible the situation seemed. And he was just pondering his chances, while the Wraiths caused Elizabeth Weir unbearable pain and who knew what else they did to her!
He got up and went slowly to the rails. The guards watched him in a mistrustful way. He started calculating how much quickness, dexterity and strength he needed to come by the weapon of a Wraith. After that, he should avoid all the beams coming from the spear gun of the other guard and speedily shoot the Wraiths down; then he should break in the opposite door at the end of the passage and try to save Doctor Weir from the two other Wraith soldiers and the Wraith captain. A bitter, tormented smile appeared at the corners of his mouth. Even to imagine this idiotic plan was ridiculous. He should have had at least ten lives to survive it. Not to mention the option if the guards started the alarm-system and he would have to face the whole Wraith legion.
"Sheppard would try it," a devilish voice whispered in his head. "He would try it because he is a brave, self-reliant soldier and not an old craven like you, looking for safety..."
He wished he could stop thinking like that. He knew that he did not have a chance (really no chance at all) to escape from his cell and save Elizabeth Weir. Then, why did he have to torment himself with these thoughts? John Sheppard himself would be unable to do a single thing in this case. And why the hell was it a reasonable way for him to compare himself to Sheppard in such a situation? It was bad enough; he should not have topped it with self-loathing and useless reflections on reckless, self-appointed heroes...
"Well, she likes that," the evil thought swayed his mind unmercifully. "Maybe, that's your only chance to prove her that you are at least half the man her beloved John Sheppard is. How the hell could you expect her to respect you, if you don't risk a heroic battle to save her? She likes them, those kinds of men. That's why she loves him. She loves Sheppard."
"No, no," he tried to sweep away the idea. "She told me an hour ago that she was not in love with him. Anyway, she is not the kind of person who falls for spectacular heroism with no real sense."
"Oh, if she is not like that, then why is she obsessed with Sheppard and why has she never ever noticed you?"
"Well, even if she feels so, it has nothing to do with risking suicidal plans. Sheppard is younger, more handsome and more easy-going than me. She has every right to love him instead of me, and I can't change that fact with pathetic bravados leading to my death."
"And what if you succeeded? What if you were able to save her from the Wraiths?"
"I can't save her. It's impossible."
"But, if there is a tiny chance..."
A squelchy noise dragged him out of his frustrating thoughts - the meat-colored curtain of offshoots opened at the end of the corridor, and the Wraith captain stepped out. He had a metal instrument in his hand, a silvery stick with long, crooked pins on its peak. Thick, red blood was dripping from the hooks. Caldwell stared with numb shudder at the instrument of torture.
"Bring him in," the captain ordered the guards, and he gestured at Caldwell.
They obeyed, coming to him with a heavy tread. The spear guns were pointed right at him; he had no chance to use his knife against them, he had to follow the Wraiths reluctantly. He deliberated over the opportunity to grab one of the weapons and acquire it, but the angle of the two guns secured that if he attacked one of the guards, the other one could shoot him down at once.
They reached the room where the Wraiths were torturing Elizabeth Weir. It was not much bigger than the cell, the walls were battered; the dark floor was covered with old and fresh bloodstains. She was chained to a chair in the middle of the place. Her bust soaked in blood which came from the sores beneath her neck. Her trousers were cut up to her knees; her calves were striped with reddish, grimy marks of burns. He could see violet-colored bruises on her arms, and some of her fingers were twisted in an unhealthy angle, he suspected that they must have been broken.
The Wraith captain went straight to Doctor Weir, and he thrust the metallic hooks right into the wounds at her collarbone. The appliance began to pulsate with a bluish light, which made her body squirm. She leaned her head back in torment, and she screamed out loud. The hissing of the instrument of torture in the greenish hand of the Wraith captain was nearly inaudible. She gasped with pain even when the metal hooks left her flesh. Crimson blood was running from the wounds, mixing with the lighter shade of her torn t-shirt.
"Doctor Weir," Caldwell mumbled. She turned her face in the direction of his stunned voice, and she caught sight of him. In spite of the pain she must have gone through, she made a faint, but glad smile, when she saw that he was unscathed. That smile made Caldwell's heart skip a beat.
"I'm alright, it's not so bad," she panted, but her tormented, choking voice certified to the contrary. "Just let them do to me what they want... It's okay. I won't say a thing to them."
"We are not interested in your answers anymore," the Wraith captain told her coldly, "We want him to tell us the coordinates." He turned to Caldwell, whose eyes were opening wide.
"I won't," his determined reply came.
"Well, I guess, you would like to see her being tortured and killed, then." The Wraith said sarcastically, and he thrust the hooks again into the woman's already torn up, bleeding wounds. The metal instrument pulsated, making Elizabeth Weir scream with agony.
"Stop it," Caldwell shouted at the Wraith captain.
"No, not until you tell me the coordinates." The Wraith pressed the bent needles deeper into her flesh. A blood-drop appeared in the corner of Weir's mouth. "I'll leave you two alive, if you tell us the location of your friends," the Wraith captain promised.
"You don't need to tell them anything," Elizabeth wheezed. Her voice was contorted with pain. "I'll sustain it."
"I won't say a thing." Caldwell tried to fake a self-assured tone. "It's better if you torture me, since her sufferings have no effect on me," he told the Wraith captain with as much coldness as he just managed to put into his voice.
"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" the Wraith snarled. "You can spare me your see-through lies."
Elizabeth was coughing, and blood began to stream at first from her nose, then from her mouth as well. Caldwell noted in stupor that her lungs must have been pinned by the long hooks, this was how blood got into her windpipe.
"Take me," he asked the Wraith. "Do to me whatever you want, just stop her torments and let her live."
"If you give us the coordinates, I will not hurt her anymore, I promise you," the Wraith captain told him disgustingly calmly.
"Don't believe him, they will kill both of us, if you tell them the location," she moaned. "Don't try to stop them. I'm alright... it's okay..." She coughed up again; blood spattered from her throat, and the red liquid overlaid her chin and her neck.
"You should decide quickly," the Wraith told Caldwell. "She won't be able to bear much more pain..."
"Colonel... please... don't listen... to him. Don't try... to stop him. Just... let him... hurt me..." Every word Weir uttered made her struggle for breath even harder. She tried to stop coughing, but the hot, salty blood filled her windpipe, and she could not control her respiration anymore.
Caldwell closed his eyes because he felt unable to stand the sight of her - bleeding to death in front of him.
"You stupid, stubborn human beings," the Wraith snapped. He seemed to become furious, impatient. "I will stab her if you don't tell me the coordinates now!"
The paleness of Caldwell's face turned into an unhealthy, ashen tone. He clenched his fists, and he kept his eyes closed. If he had been a private person, he would have sacrificed their plan, their work, everything they fought for just to end this torture, and he would have given away the coordinates instantly, but he was here from the armed forces, he represented a planet, not his own opinion, he had to stand for Atlantis, for the US government, for nations. He had a duty, he had his orders from his superiors, and he had to do what the best was for the whole community of Atlantis, for the Earth. He knew that it would be the greatest weakness to betray their mission just to save Elizabeth Weir, and she would consider it as a foolish decision too. Saving her this way would be deleterious and pathetic.
He was a high-ranking officer, and not for nothing. He could always reconcile his private opinion with the orders he had to obey, and so far he had not found real difficulty in doing so. He got used to it soon: if he wanted to make a career in the military, he had to learn how to put his personal affairs aside. But, of course, this situation was something he had never met before.
"It's okay," he heard Weir's bubbling voice saturated with blood. "Don't feel bad about it; it's not your fault... Let it happen. Let them kill me."
Caldwell opened his eyes. He saw the expression on the cruel, ugly face of the Wraith captain. He saw the shining metal weapon, which was pulled back by the Wraith; the Wraith did not want to stop hurting the woman, he was just mustering up strength to stab her. He saw the intent in the Wraith's eyes. He was still unable to look at her; he focused on the monster in front of him.
"Before she dies, I will drain all her strength and vigor left in her. I'm getting hungry." The Wraith captain became complacent again, though it was obvious that he had given up the hope to persuade Caldwell with his extortion. "We still have time to find out the location in some other way, and we still have you. So, if you choose to keep silent, then it is her last breath..."
The Wraith brandished the instrument of torture, but Caldwell's hoarse, dim voice stopped him.
"Enough. Let her live. I'll tell you the location. I'll tell you anything you want, just, please, don't hurt her anymore."
"No," Elizabeth whimpered. "Don't... don't tell them a thing... don't do that... Colonel!"
"Alright," the Wraith captain lowered the instrument of torture, turning to Caldwell. "If you try to deceive us, I will kill both of you with much more pain than you ever believed to exist, but if you tell us the correct coordinates to find your friends, I will let you take her to a healer."
"I... I will tell you the truth," Caldwell gulped. "Give me something, I'll write it down for you."
One of the Wraith soldiers handed a piece of greenish brown, sloppy panel and a thin metal stick to him. He carved the coordinates into the pane, then he gave it back. As soon as he had finished it, he rushed to Doctor Weir, who was still coughing blood. He put his arms around her shoulders, helping her to keep herself in a sitting position, and he freed her wrists from the chains. The Wraith captain signed for his inferiors to escort the two captives to their cell, and he left, carrying away the panel of the coordinates with him. Caldwell took the quivering, blood-covered woman in his arms, and he carefully lifted her up. He followed the Wraiths back along the dark corridor transpiring moisture.
When they were back in their cell, and they were already left alone, he laid her warily down on the floor. He took off his own t-shirt, for he did not have a better idea, and he put the tissue carefully to the leaking wounds on her bust. He began slowly mopping up the salty, red fluid.
"Lie still," he told her silently as he was wiping off some blood. He adjusted her into a position so that she could reject her blood onto the floor instead of swallowing it back by misadventure.
"You gave them a false location, didn't you?" she asked weakly.
"No. I wrote them the real one. I don't want them to continue torturing you. If I had written something false for them, they would have realized it in two minutes, and they would have started again to hurt you," he replied quietly.
"What does it matter? They will never let us free. They will kill us either way," she choked.
"I won't let you die." That was his only answer.
"You should have sacrificed me, you should have let them kill me..."
"Don't speak now, it does you harm."