It's Not Easy being an Intergalactic Space Explorer
Chapter 12
Where Do We Go from Here?
[Author's note – No children are hurt in any way in this chapter]
The team stood in the cold, damp corridor, silent and in shock. Vorek had turned the tables on them once again. "I should not have left him where I did," said Teyla in disbelief. "I could have found a better spot…why didn't I…?" She was uncharacteristically overcome with emotion and self-recrimination.
Sheppard looked at Teyla in dismay. The pain and fear he saw in her eyes were gut-wrenching. "Don't do that, Teyla, don't you beat yourself up. You had to make a split second decision; you did the best you could. They must have…they must have decided to patrol outside; maybe they thought people were hiding there, or their LSDs detected him..." Whatever the reason, it was done. John sighed, stepped away from his friends, and tapped his earpiece.
"You've got a deal, Vorek. We give up. Now, don't you dare hurt that little boy, or I swear…!"
"You're in no position to demand anything, Colonel, but for the moment, you have my promise that the child will not be harmed."
"Now, throw all of your weapons and other equipment into the water and come out. My men are very eager to see you again." Vorek's words dripped with malice…and anticipation.
John ordered his friends to comply. He then looked down the long corridor at his enemy, darkly silhouetted against the pale blue light that illuminated the City's empty, damaged places. With a grunt of disgust, he threw his guns down and surrendered.
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The Wraith Worshippers, flush with victory, dragged Sheppard and the others away. They took no chances this time. As each Lantean emerged they were forced to their knees, bound and gagged. Sheppard got the worst of it; a vicious kick to his side sent him collapsing into the wet muck. The cultists knew that Teyla was Torren's mother. They taunted her, tormented her by saying how badly she had failed her son. Helpless, she could do nothing but let her anger grow, and with it her determination to fight.
Her friends were doing the same.
Soon they were back to where it had all began – the Control room. Vorek had Torren. He was bouncing the baby on his lap in a sick charade of affection. As Teyla started to struggle, Vorek motioned to his men to cut her free. "I am not a monster, Teyla. A child should be with its mother," he sneered. Teyla snatched the baby from him as fast as she could, as if every second in the man's grasp contaminated him with disease. "I was surprised at your poor choice of a hiding place, Athosian. You should have expected that we would search the Jumpers, one by one."
Teyla stood frozen in place. "What? But I did not…how did...?" She stopped talking as John gave her a piercing stare. He was gagged, but he didn't need to be able to verbalize what all his friends, at that moment, knew must be true: their purple-eyed friends had inexplicably and deliberately put Torren in harm's way. John seethed with anger. He didn't know who was more deserving of his fury – the cultists or the Azeron.
He didn't have time to think about it. Sheppard was slammed into the chair to which he had been tied when Vorek was torturing him. Blood stained the upholstery. Smears had been tracked by boots across the floor. Next to him was the computer which would accept John's access code and lower the shield.
"I'll waste no time…or words on you, Sheppard," said Vorek harshly. "While you were gone, I sent one man through the Gate to Sedaris, to gather reinforcements. He has been dialing Atlantis every ten minutes. They will be doing that again in…three. This time, when he does, you will lower that shield. No deception, no stalling. Only absolute cooperation."
John was tied to the chair and remained gagged. His right arm was kept free, but was held in the bone-crushing grip of a guard. As promised, the Gate activated within three minutes. Taking a long, apologetic look at his friends, Sheppard typed in the access code, let the guard place his hand on the scanner, and opened the doors of Atlantis to the Wraith Worshippers.
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Ronon was pacing like a wild animal. He and Lorne were imprisoned in one of the City's holding cells. They should have been dead, but John had convinced Vorek to keep them alive a little while longer. He had suggested that they be forced to see the Wraith triumphantly take over Atlantis before they were executed. Vorek had agreed; he knew Sheppard was blatantly playing to his ego in order to keep his friends safe, and he loved it.
Back in the Control room, McKay was freed from his bonds. Vorek ordered him to transmit the gate address and space coordinates of Atlantis to the Wraith, using the subspace communications array – the system that Rodney had disabled hours earlier.
The cult leader boasted to his prisoners that soon he would be standing in their Gate room, personally presenting the greatest prize of all to his masters. "By your own actions, Dr. McKay - and because of your failures, Sheppard - the location of Atlantis will be sent to every corner of the galaxy. Soon, the sky above your City will be darkened by countless Wraith ships."
John noted with significant interest that, just as the doctor in the Compound had, Vorek suffered from a huge – and potentially fatal – ego. If they were lucky, it would lead him to make an equally fatal mistake. The Gate worked now - a few Sedari could just go through it and bring the Wraith here that way. But, no, that wouldn't be dramatic enough for Vorek. He was in control of the situation, of this unprecedented impending victory. His masters would come to him, in wave after wave, drawn by the signal from Atlantis.
McKay went to sit down at the console and then stopped.
"What is the delay, Doctor? Do what you are told!" said Vorek.
Rodney couldn't. He looked around at his friends. "John, Richard, Teyla...I…I can't do this! Once this signal goes out…the Wraith could be here in minutes! Teyla, I'm so sorry, I know that the baby…that they'll…but I can't…I can't help them!" He turned to Vorek. "I sabotaged this system earlier, but I won't fix it now. Figure it out for yourselves; I'm sure you're smart enough. Or, just end all of this melodrama and go through the Gate! We're probably doomed anyways, but I won't help you." McKay then sat down. Oh, god, he thought, what had he just done!?
Vorek stood there, furious. No one dared speak. It was Teyla who finally did.
She spoke quietly but with confidence. "Don't signal the Wraith, Rodney. You are correct. The Wraith cannot know where we are, and you cannot help Vorek tell them...whatever the cost."
Everyone stared at her, stunned. But no one more so than Vorek.
"You are willing to sacrifice your own child?"
"If I have to," said Teyla.
At that, John began to struggle against the ropes and cry out through his gag. Vorek motioned for him to be released.
"Teyla, I won't let you do this!" Turning to Vorek, John said, "I'll take you up in a Jumper. I know you have the Ancient gene. I'll teach you to fly the ship and how to signal the Wraith. That way, they can make a great, big entrance over the planet, just like you want them to."
"Ah…interesting. The mother is willing to lose the child, but not you."
"I'm not like you, Vorek. I don't sacrifice children for a cause."
McKay, Teyla and Woolsey couldn't believe what they were hearing. As the guards moved to grab Sheppard, McKay stepped in the way.
"One minute, just give us a minute!" He pulled John aside. "Sheppard, if you do this…we can't win this time, not against an entire City full of Wraith…not unless…unless you want us to trigger the self-destruct."
"Rodney, I can't let Torren die."
"You…you may have to…" said Teyla painfully.
"If you take that Jumper out, Colonel," began Woolsey...
"…then maybe I can find a way to stop him up there, and you guys can still find a way to fight down here" finished John.
Sheppard was then taken away.
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Ronon and Lorne sat in their cell, desperate for news of their friends. At the sound of the door whooshing open, they got to their feet. Surprisingly, Vorek's daughter and a teenage boy came into the room. More surprising was when they raised their stunners at the guards and shot them.
The children lowered the force field. They gathered up the stunners and rifles from the unconscious men and handed them to Ronon and Lorne.
"What's going on…why are you doing this?" asked Lorne.
Vorek's daughter spoke. "We…we heard Father's words…and his…heartlessness towards the baby. We have always been obedient to our parents (the boy was apparently her brother) but we…we cannot do this anymore. It is wrong."
Lorne and Ronon shared a look, amazed at the turn of events.
"We have taken care of the two guards outside, along with the ones at the armory. Three other children – and two mothers – are ambushing the men guarding the two large rooms. They will lead your people to collect weapons and other supplies they may need."
"What about our friends in the Control room?"
The girl spoke. "It is too risky for us to attempt to help them. Father has many followers there who could easily stop us. You will need to rescue them yourselves."
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Vorek gazed in amazement at the view as the Jumper soared across Atlantis's sea. "To control such power, through only a touch or a thought!" he said.
"Well, it also takes considerable finesse, Vorek."
"I will quickly master this craft, Sheppard, I assure you. Now, initiate your communications system so that you may betray your people to the Wraith!"
John made the slightest pause as he moved his hand to do as he was told.
"The baby, Sheppard…" reminded Vorek. "I am sure I can figure out how to send a message to the City, tell them that you are refusing to cooperate…"
"Alright, alright!" John knew he couldn't delay any longer. Perhaps…perhaps he could somehow transmit a false message, a corrupted signal; deceive Vorek in some way. The Jumper hadn't revealed all of its secrets to him yet, even after all these years.
He placed his hand on the controls and focused his thoughts. "Ahhh!" John cried out. The panel suddenly exploded as the communications equipment shorted out, burning Sheppard's hand and sending sparks and smoke throughout the cabin.
"What did you do this time?" yelled Vorek.
"I don't know, really, I don't!" And Sheppard didn't. He hadn't made a conscious effort to blow things up. It had just…happened. His genetic ability had confounded him again.
"Enough!" said Vorek. His frustration had reached the breaking point. "You cannot be trusted after all. I will take this ship myself to the nearest Gate and contact the Wraith directly." He placed his hands on the console. To John's surprise, the Jumper responded well to Vorek's thoughts. He was more talented than Sheppard expected; his gene was strong.
But his was stronger. It had to be. Vorek's men had bound his arms to the pilot's seat, with only enough slack to reach the controls.
Controls he could use to crash the Jumper.
Putting his hands to the console, John sent the ship plummeting to earth. Vorek, realizing what he was doing, attempted to counteract Sheppard's orders. The Jumper began to level off. But John would not give up. He sent the ship down again, faster, and at a deadlier angle. Vorek again tried to fight John off. And Sheppard again countered, but this time with his feet as well. They had restrained his arms but not his legs. Swiveling in his chair, John kicked out as hard as he could at Vorek, shoving his boots solidly into his chest. When the man moved to strike him, John somehow managed to deliver a lethal kick to Vorek's head.
It killed him.
Sheppard turned frantically back to the controls. He looked through the windshield. The Jumper was hurtling towards disaster, the ground rushing, rushing inexorably towards him. John grasped the controls with all his strength, and put his mind and body into every thought, desperate to pull the ship back up. But it wasn't going to happen. John prepared himself, mentally and physically, for the crash. He screwed his eyes tight and…opened them in shock as he landed, hard on the floor, in the dimly lit room surrounded by the bane of his existence, the Azeron.
John found himself unusually calm. Of course this was going to happen. Nothing in the last few months had played out normally.
This time, John stood up for himself – a bit. He spoke to the Azeron with true words and true emotion that couldn't be expressed by the silent, measured pace of cold thought.
To his surprise, the Azeron let him.
"What, again? You've yanked me back here again? Oh, maybe you're going to be nice this time around and keep me here all safe and warm while everything else goes to hell?!"
The older Azeron he had first met weeks ago answered him. "No, Colonel. The Jumper is going to crash, and with you inside it."
John lost it. "What is wrong with you people! Jesus Christ, what do you f….king want!?"
"To tell you, John, that the new people have arrived on Atlantis."
"What, how did…were they waiting to get me out of the way, for me to die before they….!?" John stopped talking then. Everything that had been percolating through his subconscious, for weeks and weeks, suddenly coalesced into a frightening, yet liberating realization.
"We're the new race, aren't we?" said Sheppard.
"Yes, John."
"You…you never meant that we were going to be invaded, wiped out, destroyed."
"No, John."
John took a long, deep breath. Sorting this out was going to be…no, he could do it. It had been his own misconceptions that had prevented him from figuring it out ages ago, anyways. All he had to do now was push that clutter of confusing thoughts out of the way and allow the fresh ones, that had been patiently waiting, to come in.
"So, we're 'new' as in…you're giving us a second chance because…we've passed some crazy test of yours? We've proven that we can 'fight the good fight' against the Wraith Worshippers? Frankly, I think it's because you've grown to like us. Hey, I've been told I can be pretty charming."
The Azeron gave him a smile. "John…," he admonished gently, "you know the real answers to your questions, don't you?"
"Alright, alright; uh…we are a new people…but in a philosophical way." John took another deep breath. He could wrap his mind around this, he really could. "We're new because of what we've been through in the past few months, because of what we've achieved? But for the life of me I can't understand why this has happened, and I sure as hell don't know where you people fit in."
"John," asked another Azeron, "why did you think your people were going to be destroyed, replaced by some evil invader?"
"I think I interpreted your words that way because, uh, I don't know, I'm a soldier. My thought processes generally don't run in the direction of philosophical concepts."
The Azeron looked pleased at John's growing comprehension. "You interpreted our words as you did because that is your mind's focus, Colonel. In your galaxy, you, your thoughts and your actions are largely geared towards literal, physical survival. But such survival takes more than the best weapons, the biggest army, the strongest ships. It takes changes in the mind, in what you call 'heart', changes in attitude and outlook, in drive and determination, in the application of intelligence and intuition."
"Who the hell are you people? What's your role in all of this? Why did you ever become a part of my life?"
The older Azeron spoke again. "We are unique beings. We have existed for hundreds of thousands of years, only rarely venturing from our galaxy."
"Our role… the closest definition would be that we are 'Solvers.' As your language books put it, we identify a problem – something that requires thought and skill for resolution* – and solve it – find an answer through reasoning.* One outcome of solving is that something – a person, a project, an idea – is then allowed to advance, to reach another level."
"Do you remember, John, when we first met, we told you to consider yourself among the few who have ever attracted our interest?"
"Yeah…" said John warily.
"Our purpose is to look out across the Universe at every galaxy, seeking an intellectual challenge that merits our involvement and is deserving of our attention. In Pegasus we found it, a powerful dynamic consisting of three rivals who were strong, determined, and skilled; who were driven by a sense of mission and fiercely vying for dominance and survival. Neither was truly gaining on the other, however. In our view, 'the last man standing' as your expression goes, would win. Your conflict would become an inefficient war of attrition rather than one whose end could be reached by reasoning, intellect, and creativity."
"So, each component of the Pegasus dynamic was assigned a contingent of Azeron who were tasked with solving the problems of their particular side, with the goal that their beings would advance and prevail over the others. It would not be an exercise to determine right or wrong, or to consider who was most worthy or less evil. Their work would be informed by pure logic."
"We analyzed each group of combatants. We quantified their strengths and weaknesses. We developed theories about the possible outcomes and how they could be achieved. The consensus amongst our people was that the resolution of your conflict required each side to evolve – mentally, physically, technologically, and emotionally. To that end, Lanteans, Wraith and Wraith Worshippers would receive our…guidance."
"Guidance!? Interference, you mean. When you grabbed me, sorry, when you invited me over for a quick chat, you said you couldn't, you wouldn't interfere in our conflict with the Wraith and their followers. But, from my standpoint, that's all the hell you've been doing!? You're just a bunch of cold, cruel SOBs using millions of lives for some bizarre form of entertainment. You're getting off on…on solving…what…a math problem?!"
"Your analogy is not far off the mark, John, but we take no pleasure from our actions. We meant what we told you before. We are comparable to midwives. We seek to guide the birth of something new, dispassionately, logically, and efficiently. We do not see ourselves as interfering. My kind have worked 'behind the scenes,' as you call it, to advance many races over the millennia. The Universe made us what we are and requires us to do what we do. It is the same with humans, with Wraith, and with their worshippers. Can you explain, John, why your race is one way, and the Wraith another? No. We all have our role in the Universe. You now understand ours."
"But, the things you've done…?! Forget about what you've put me through. You instigated the Culling on Lytara. Somehow, you've elevated the Wraith and their crazies technologically. And now you've put an innocent little baby in jeopardy!"
"We have also helped you, John, and your fellow humans. How do you think you found the ability to drive the symbiote from your body? Your allies in Pegasus…so many of them survive in the face of great danger and death from the Wraith. How? Their ability to do so has not come solely through their own initiative. Our actions, whether for or against your people, have inspired you to learn, innovate, and see your enemies, even view yourselves, in new ways. You, yourself, have become a better leader within your own City and within the coalition you have helped create."
"It is nearly time for us to send you back, John. Before you go, consider this: Are evolution – physical and mental – , growth, and change the exclusive right of what you call 'the good guys' or are they, should they, be within the reach of any creature, no matter their nature? Please do not believe we are without compassion, John. It is just that we do not, and we cannot, ever consider it."
John thought for a moment. Then, he asked, "Are you done 'guiding' my people?"
The Azeron were silent.
"The Wraith and their followers: have they become 'new races,' too?"
"What do you think, Colonel?" asked the older Azeron. He gave Sheppard one final – was it slightly sad? – smile, and then…
Impact. His own voice screaming. Pain – terrible pain. Hanging upside down. Glimpses of early morning daylight through the smoke, through the blood in his eyes. His leg wet from the nick in his femoral artery. Voices calling out…people coming to save him. And in the background, constantly, was the mantra the Azeron had stuck into his head the first time they met: you alone can determine your fate, nothing is certain, nothing is certain…
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A few weeks later, Sheppard was still hobbling around on crutches. The artery had been repaired, but his leg was broken in two places. They had removed his ruptured spleen. The gashes in his head had required more stitches than he could count. The cuts Vorek had inflicted upon him were healing, but would leave him with many scars, both physical and emotional.
His friends had managed to save themselves and the rest of Atlantis. Vorek's men had been overwhelmed as the City's residents were set free. His blind faith in the loyalty of his people had, well, come back and bitten him in the ass. John wished Vorek had lived long enough to see his own children betray him.
It had been difficult for John to explain what had happened. The Azeron had answered many questions, but from those answers arose even more questions…as well as a strange mixture of apprehension, anticipation, and enthusiasm about what the future might hold. But then, wasn't that what the Azeron were leading them towards all along…?
The End.
I hope you enjoyed this story. Thanks for hanging on during the past 5 weeks or so. This chapter contained a lot of philosophical ideas to digest; I hope I conveyed them in an understandable way.
Please take just a second to review!
*Merriam-Webster online dictionary