Chapter 25, part 2.
She was sitting on a little plastic chair, playing with her food more than eating it, deep in thought, when a familiar voice called her name from behind. She froze for a second and then, reluctantly, got up from her seat, turning around.
"Yes, sir?" She asked, keeping her face neutral.
Her Uncle Simon was wearing his khaki service dress uniform, the stars shining on his epaulets. His face was somber and vaguely offended.
"Did I hear that well? Are you testifying in front of the Task Force on Women in Combat?" He asked crabbily, without preamble.
"Yes, sir, that is correct," she answered levelly, looking straight into his eyes.
He wasn't galled. "They must be real strapped for examples if they've called on you…"
She felt her face twitch and made an effort to remain impassive. "Yes, sir. Is that all?" She turned around and picked up the tray—with her food still largely untouched—and took a step to move away, but he stopped her.
"No, that is not all!" He nearly yelled, two red splotches appearing on his cheeks. "I am trying to talk to you!"
"I have nothing to say to you, sir," she replied coldly, stressing the honorific. Then she swerved around him and walked to the closest tray disposal to dump the uneaten food.
"Now you stop that immediately, young lady!" He called from behind her and her temper rose to boiling over in a second.
She whipped around, her eyes cutting like knives, and hissed: "I am not a young lady, I am a Major in the United States Air Force, and I deserve common courtesy if nothing else from you!"
"Now, now—" He began, his face scrunched in a frown, but she was too mad to restrain herself anymore.
"I have two Bronze Stars, three Purple Hearts, an Air Medal, a Prisoner of War medal, and a handful of others! And if that's not enough, I have scars to prove my combat experience! And you know all this and yet you stand here and question my worth, to my face!" She seethed.
He looked taken aback. A few heads turned around to see what all the fuss was about, but Alice was beyond caring that she had an audience.
"And I used to care about it all, I used to try to make you see me, god! How stupid I was! You don't see me like you don't see any woman in a uniform, like you don't see Jake, because you, sir, are a sexist bigot and a homophobe, and I am done pretending like there is anything connecting us other than blood!"
Now all of his face grew red and he balled his hands into fists.
"How dare you talk to me like that! I will have you answer for disrespecting a superior officer!" He roared angrily.
"You do that and I'll see you in court!" She responded hotly, ignoring the whiff of whispering that was swelling all around them.
"What did I ever do to you?!" He demanded before she could turn around and walk away. "What did I do to you except care and look after you and your mother!"
"Are you fucking kidding me?!" She took a step back as if the question literally threw her. "Have you forgotten what happened at Thanksgiving?!"
"That was a ridiculous, contemptible display, that was!" He bristled. "My quarrel is with your brother, but I don't remember doing anything to you!"
"You called Jake 'a filthy faggot'!" She reminded him, her voice low and hissy. "My brother! My beloved brother who's never done a single dishonest thing in his life, my brother who's served well and faithfully for fifteen years in the Marine Corps, my brother who's a decorated war hero!" As she was picking up steam, her voice rose and became hotter again. "When was the last time you have been in battle, sir? Because Jake has nearly lost his life not four months ago! And it wasn't even two weeks since I splashed five enemy fighters, one of them after getting hit and losing one of my engines, and then I proceeded to fucking glide to the nearest aircraft carrier and survived a crash-landing!" Her fury rose even higher as the remark she'd just made reminded her of another of Simon's offenses. "Funnily enough, it was the USS Carl Vinson, and you know what I found out while there? That my father, your own brother, did not crash because of a bad storm! He had been shot at by a Turkish F-16 while on patrol in the No-Fly Zone in Iraq, that's why he crashed! It had been declassified six years ago! And you knew and never told us! In fact, you must have actively prevented the Navy from informing us!"
Simon's face was more purple than red by then, but he let out a long breath and said in a more measured voice than Alice had the right to expect: "Yes, I did that, because I was afraid if you found out, you would tell your mother!"
This threw her, effectively extinguishing most of the flame that had carried her through her tirade. "What?"
"Your mother had just been released from Hallaway at the time this was declassified," he explained gruffly. "You were off to AFIT with her in tow, and I knew, if you found out, you would've told her. But I didn't think she was well enough to know the truth. She was so fragile! She's still way too fragile to cope with it."
"She's stronger than you think," Alice contradicted, but in a sort of detached way. The flare of temper was gone and she was feeling empty inside.
"No matter what you think, Allie, I do care about my family," Simon continued, his face slowly turning back to its normal shade. "You and I might have very different ideas on what it means, but do not ascribe me any nefarious motives!"
She pursed her lips, now becoming aware of people staring at them all around. "Yeah? Have you apologized to Jake yet?"
It seemed for a few seconds like he was struggling with himself. "I don't want to discuss Jake!" He finally spewed. "That is a conversation for another time!"
It brought back some of the fire to Alice. "What is this conversation about, then? Because it seems to me that you just wanted to come and demean me!"
"I did not!" He protested and wanted to say something else, but then he caught something out of the corner of his eyes and closed his mouth.
"I think that's enough of a spectacle," a new voice joined the conversation; it sounded familiar. "If you two want to continue, I would suggest moving to a more private place."
Alice closed her eyes for a couple seconds, telling herself to let it all go, and then she half-turned to look at the man she had never met but seen on the screen of a TV often enough to recognize without trouble. "Sorry, sir," she said, summoning all of her strength to try and sound contrite.
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs looked expectantly at Simon.
"My apologies, sir," he choked out. His face was now white as a sheet—probably out of mortification.
"Good." The four-star general looked at them jovially, belying his reputation as a hard-ass. "Family dispute?"
"Yes, sir. Again, General, sorry for this pitiful display—I should not have let her rile me up so," Simon managed, his voice taking on a quality quite foreign for him—obsequiousness mixed with resentment, she thought.
The Chairman waved his hand dismissively. "Seen worse." Then he frowned a little and his eyes swept over Alice's epaulets and ribbon rack and stopped at her nametag. "Major Boyd—you're Major Alice Boyd?"
If she wasn't still angry, Alice would've laughed at Simon's expression when he realized the highest-ranking officer in the US Armed Forces recognized his niece.
"Yes, sir—it's an honor to meet you, sir."
He reached out to shake her hand. "I would say the honor is mine, Major. I am always so eager to meet people in the Program—rarely get the chance, unfortunately, stuck in D.C. as I am—aside from O'Neill himself, of course, and his staff here in the Pentagon. Say, have you recovered from the incident over the Pacific?"
She put a lot of effort to smile sweetly up at him, her eyes never straying to look at Simon—but she knew this was killing him, and the sense of perverse pleasure and triumph allowed her finally to push the anger away. "Oh, yes, sir. There's still some soreness, but they've removed the stitches and I'm back to one hundred percent."
"That's great to hear, Major. Nothing proves better how important your mission is than that incident—who knows what could've happened if you hadn't warned us in time." He nodded pleasantly. "And what brings you to the Pentagon today?"
"I'm testifying for the Task Force on Women in Combat, sir."
"Oh, of course, I should've guessed. Well, if your experience doesn't sway them, then nothing will. How is it going?"
She was still buzzing with adrenaline after the fight, so she found that it wasn't even that hard to answer honestly. "I am doing my best, sir, but with my entire service record classified, I'm afraid my story is not resounding too much with the panel. These are pretty outrageous claims if you take them out of context, though, and I can't blame them for not believing me."
"They are outrageous claims even if you know the context," he noted, raising his eyebrows. "Recently, most of the mission reports coming out of the Program have become pretty routine. One can get used to anything, I guess," he added philosophically, unknowingly echoing Alice's earlier words to the Task Force panel. "There are a few outliers, of course. Sheppard and his team never fail to provide entertainment value in their reports, and neither does the SG-1—and your own team."
Alice tried to smile pleasantly, but the idea that their desperate fight against the Wraith in the Pegasus, or their struggle against the Lucian Alliance in the Milky Way, or even her own chase after Jareth were mere stories to this man, providing entertainment value—it was pretty callous. She didn't find anything to say to that other than "Yes, sir".
"And how is your new ward doing?" The Chairman continued, as if this was a standard friendly chat between acquaintances.
She caught Simon's face from the corner of her eye: it was still very pale, but there were little pink shadows on his cheeks now.
"She is doing very well, thank you, sir. We're almost done with all the formalities, only need the official judge's decision to make me her legal guardian."
"She's adjusting well? I am so fascinated by those cases. Not that there have been many of them—and surely children get used to new circumstances much better than adults, huh?"
"Yes, sir. Though Dalia is already fifteen—or somewhere around that age, it's hard to say for sure. She's working hard at catching up, though. Television and Internet are a big help," Alice added with a bleak smile. Dalia was already starting to adopt internet speak in her text messages.
He chuckled. "I'll bet. And how is your brother? He was injured recently, wasn't he?"
Alice blinked quickly. It just hit her how odd it was that this man knew so many personal details about her; it was conceivable he would know about the battle over the Pacific since it had been a pretty close call, and she could even understand why he'd be aware of Dalia—he might have been called upon to advise the President when he was making the decision whether to let her stay or not. But the information about her brother was not a huge news and it happened months ago—the fact that he retained it for so long, and made the connection to Alice, was surprising.
"Yes, sir. He's doing very well, thank you. He's going back to active duty next week, but it'll be just for twelve days."
"Oh? And why is that?"
"He's moving into the Reserves, sir," she explained cautiously, studiously not looking at Simon. "He's been in the Corps for fifteen years, in the Program for eight, and I think he's feeling a little bit that he's hit his ceiling. There isn't really much room to grow for a gunnery sergeant over there," she added vaguely, hoping the general would understand.
He did. "Well, he could always get a degree and come back to be commissioned," he noted.
"Yes, sir, but it's not just that." She hesitated, but the cat was really out of the bag now, wasn't it? "Being so far away is not really conducive to maintaining relationships."
"Ah." He smirked. "Let me guess, some lady stole his heart while he was on leave?"
Alice swallowed hard but feigned a smile and replied: "Yes, sir, except it wasn't a lady."
"Ah." His eyebrows went up for a moment but then his face smoothed and he nodded. "Good! The Armed Forces need more diversity, not less. I'm glad he decided to stay in the Reserves—whatever unit he will join will be very lucky to have him!"
She couldn't see Simon's reaction, but as to her own, she almost got a little choked up. She knew that this Chairman of the Joint Chiefs was of a different breed than those that came before him, much more progressive—after all he'd been nominated by a Democratic president; though he also had to be confirmed by a Republican Senate. Still, Don't Ask Don't Tell had only been repealed a year before, and it was truly touching to have this little confirmation of how much has changed since—or, at the very least, to see a token of support from a man in his position.
"Yes, sir," she agreed solemnly.
He nodded, as if acknowledging the gravity of the exchange. "Alright, Major—as fascinating as I find it to talk to you, I need to move on. I hope we meet again soon." And he extended his arm again towards her.
"Yes, sir, thank you," she replied, shaking it. Then she straightened up to attention, nodded respectfully at him—ignoring her uncle—and walked away. She just caught the four-star say to Simon "A word, Boyd" before she was too far to hear anything more.
She still had twenty minutes to kill before the Task Force panel would reconvene, and she decided to take a little fresh air. She was still mulling through the fight with Simon and the oddly personal conversation with the Chairman and it wasn't until she was almost across the parking lot and looking back at the massive building looming nearby that she realized this was the exact same vantage point she had seen it from once before—except it had holes blasted in it, then, and the entire parking lot she was standing on now was full of debris… The flashback was so strong that it winded her as if she had been hit in the gut; she almost doubled over, hugging herself so tightly that her nails dug into the skin on her arms, despite the sleeves of her uniform jacket. It took her a long moment and many a deep breath to calm down enough to get back into the building—but the surreal feeling that the memories of the empty, dark corridors she had once traveled in the future brought with them accompanied her all the way back to the room.
She came in a little late, but the Task Force was still gathering, thankfully, so no one noticed. The ODEI Director smiled to her encouragingly from his place and she tried to reply in kind, but her face did not want to cooperate. She stood by her chair for a few more minutes, fidgeting and trying to get back to the present, until finally Burke and Stewart came in together. Only when all of them sat down, she took her own seat.
"Alright, everyone, let's get started again. I hope everyone had the chance to fill their bellies and that we won't all collectively have a sugar crash now!" The Under Secretary began with a bright grin and a wink to Alice. "Before we go on, I just wanted to let everyone know that myself and General Burke are just coming back from a short conversation with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. He called us both in to discuss Major Boyd's testimony so far and he confirmed that, being privy to the entirety of her service record, all of what she's told us is one hundred percent true."
His words caused a bit of a rustle among the men; they were looking at each other questioningly, but none of them spoke.
Alice smiled blandly. The Chairman didn't know the entirety of her service record. He didn't know that she had seen this very building destroyed by the Wraith… she swallowed hard and told herself not to follow that train of thought anymore.
"He even indicated some questions we might want to ask of Major Boyd, but let us do that after closing the subject we had begun before the lunch break. Major, could you please explain what had happened on the USS Carl Vinson?"
"Yes, sir," she replied and wet her lips quickly. She was regretting that she had dumped her water bottle with the rest of the food during the fight with Simon, but taking it with her at that moment would've cramped her style. "On November 29th, I was out on a mission—I can't tell you where, but it was part of my undercover operation. As a result of this mission, I learned of an attack on the United States that was in the works. I returned immediately to relay this information—in time for us to be able to mount sufficient defense against the enemy. I can't give you much details on that, I'm afraid, except to say that they were numerous. We deployed two squadrons—of the same fighter I used to fly—and, since one of them was at the base where I happened to be and there was no other available pilot, I took it up as well. I joined the fight over the Northern Pacific and scored some kills, but unfortunately I was also hit. I lost one engine, and was leaking fuel. There was absolutely no way to get to the shore, and my ejection system malfunctioned. My CO suggested I could make it to the closes aircraft carrier, the Vinson. Before I could reach it, I lost the remainder of my fuel, so the last couple hundred miles I had to glide. My landing gear wouldn't engage, so even with perfectly operating engines it would've been a hard landing… instead it was a crash-landing. I only survived because of the sturdiness of the aircraft."
"I want to know what kind of aircraft can survive a hit like that, glide two hundred miles and then land without becoming a giant ball of fire," Burke said gruffly, apparently unconvinced by the Chairman's extolment of Alice.
"Sorry, sir, I am not at liberty to tell you that," she replied, becoming a little peeved with him. It was one thing to be reluctant when he didn't believe a word she said, but now that he had the confirmation of her sincerity, his doubting her was verging on insulting.
"Well, the wreck was a pretty sight," the Navy admiral noted. "Or at least that's what I've been told. Wings broken off, canopy shattered, a mess of twisted metal for cockpit…" He shook his head. "How did you survive unscathed?!"
So much for Roland and Winston not telling anyone about what happened, she thought.
"Well, I wasn't entirely unscathed," she acknowledged, reflexively touching her left forearm with her right hand, even though the scar was hidden under the sleeve. "A shard from the canopy pierced my arm, thankfully it missed the arteries and veins, so it was just a matter of some stitches. I was pretty banged up in general, too, with a couple cracked ribs and lots of bruises." She shrugged. "Nothing major, and that was thanks to how the fighter was constructed."
"Nothing major," the Under Secretary repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. "Bruises, broken ribs, cuts, but here you are two weeks later as if nothing happened."
"It's a matter of experience, sir. I've been through worse," she explained.
The look he gave her was incredulous, but he decided not to comment. "The Chairman mentioned another incident that happened recently—something about a young girl you've saved?" He asked instead.
Alice nodded nervously. "Yes, sir. I was undercover when I came upon a scene where one of my contacts was torturing this teenage girl to try and extract information out of her. Having successfully done so, she had ordered her killed; I interfered without breaking my cover to postpone the execution—and later we came back and rescued the girl. Her name is Dalia, she is about fifteen or sixteen. She was granted asylum in the States."
"That's not quite all, is it, though?" The Under Secretary pressed. "You've taken her in?"
The other men shifted on their seats, sending him questioning looks.
Alice sighed. "Yes, sir. She insisted on staying with me—she thinks she owes me… so I agreed to take care of her until she is old enough to be independent. She's a good kid, if a little annoying at times." She shrugged.
This made the civilians smirk and even the officers—all except Burke, who still looked antagonistic—let a shadow of a smile appear on their faces.
"Which teenager isn't?" The Navy Admiral asked rhetorically.
"That is extremely kind of you to do, take her in like that," the ODEI Director said warmly.
Alice wondered what any of this had to do with the subject of the testimony, and Stewart must have thought the same, because he quickly moved on.
"The Chairman also told me to ask about a rescue operation you've mounted a few months ago?"
"Yes, sir. One of our teams was captured by enemy forces," she began, again surprised that the Chairman would remember a mission from half a year earlier. "I led an allied squadron of fighters into a battle in order to get behind the frontlines. We've engaged the hostiles—I splashed two of them—and while the rest of the squadron tied them up in battle, myself and one more bird touched down in enemy territory. We fought our way in and then split up—part of my team went on to release the captives, and myself and another engineer sabotaged the facility so that we could be evacuated without further risk to our troops and equipment."
Burke was shaking his head, but he didn't say anything. It was the Marine Corps General that spoke next.
"So it was another combined mission—flying and ground," he noted, a bit sourly, as if despite the Under Secretary's assurances of what the Chairman had told him, he was still doubtful of the veracity of Alice's words. "You do that a lot?"
"Not anymore, sir, but it used to be my bread and butter when I was—overseas," she explained nervously. "But I do what is needed. Improvising and adapting to changing circumstances is a big part of my job."
The general smirked crookedly. "Improvise, adapt, overcome," he commented with heavy sarcasm in his voice, and Alice knew it was because this was the Corps' motto.
"I know how it sounds," she acknowledged. "But it's true. And we do, in fact, cooperate with the Marine Corps in our missions."
"Oh?" His eyebrows went up; this was, apparently, news to him. "How so?"
"Mostly our marine colleagues provide combat support whenever it's needed," she said. "Which is often. We are a very specialized unit."
"The Chairman implied that you're an elite unit—better than Special Ops," the Under Secretary added.
His statement was met with a loud snort from General Burke, but, again, he didn't offer a comment. Alice's irritation at the man grew exponentially.
"Yes, sir," she confirmed more confidently than she felt. "The selection process for the Program is much more restrictive than for the Green Berets, Air Force Special Warfare, Navy Seals, or Marine Recon—or any other Special Ops organization. Only the best of the best end up there—or those with special abilities, especially in terms of science and engineering."
They all gave her a doubtful look and she sighed.
"I know I don't look like it," she admitted. "But trust me when I say it, just the fact that I'm still here, alive, is proof that I belong there." It was going completely against her nature to puff herself up like this—she felt disingenuous, knowing how badly she had screwed up things, how many mistakes she had made—but their constant disbelief in her abilities—even after being told that they were true—was getting on her nerves enough to make her barrel through it. "There are many, many good people who have lost their lives in this line of work. Some of them were women, too. Some of them were my friends," she added, her voice trembling just a little—and she hated herself for that moment of weakness. She counted backwards: Moors, Porter, Karim, Fiona, Allen, Spinner…
"I am sorry," Stewart said after a moment of silence that followed her confession. "And I have no doubt that you have earned your place there, Major." He then paused for a moment, and added finally: "One more thing the Chairman indicated we might ask you, if you permit me: something about a recent flight to Britain?"
She tried and failed to restrain a grimace. "That was not a work-related incident."
"Nevertheless, I would be grateful if you could tell us about it," he insisted.
Alice sighed. "I don't think I need to say much—it was in the news." She shrugged. "Remember a few weeks ago, there was a hijacking attempt. A British Airways flight taken over by four terrorists?"
"I remember," the Under Secretary nodded, frowning. "It was stopped by—wait, are you saying that was you?!"
"Yes, sir. I was going to Britain for—well, for private reasons," she stumbled. "It just so happened that I was aboard when it happened." She shrugged again. "It wasn't a big deal."
The civilians looked far more impressed with this revelation that nearly anything she had said before. The officers were less so, though most of them were surprised—all except General Burke, who continued to seem hostile. Alice found it particularly hurtful that a man from her own branch of Armed Forces should be so antagonistic towards her.
"Not a big deal?" Stewart repeated incredulously. "You saved, what, three hundred people—and, they say, the British Royal Family!"
She smiled mirthlessly. "Hardly a record for me," she quipped and then, seeing their raised eyebrows, she shook her head dismissively. "Doesn't matter. It wasn't a big deal because it was not a difficult feat, sir. I am trained and have lots of experience in going against armed enemies, so taking down these hijackers was nothing out of the ordinary for me. I'd never flown an airliner before, but I am a pilot, so landing it wasn't that difficult either. Don't get me wrong, it was stressful, but it was normal stressful—well, normal for me. Again, that's what I'm trained for. It's other stuff that I—" she stopped, hesitating.
"If all this is not a big deal for you, what is?" The Assistant Secretary of the Army asked shrewdly, correctly interpreting her half-sentence.
She took a deep breath and gestured at them. "It's this, sir. Talking to people. I am not good at social interactions. I'm better at it now than before, but it still stresses me out, especially when the stakes are high."
"Really? That's what stresses you?" The Under Secretary shook his head disbelievingly.
"Yes, sir."
"Are you sure you're actually related to Simon Boyd?" The Army General asked, a bit mockingly.
Alice's smile was more nervous for the memory of the shouting match in the food court just half an hour earlier. "I'm something of an outlier in my family, sir."
"I'll say," Burke murmured, a bit mysteriously.
"Isn't Simon connected to Congressman Kelly?" The Assistant Secretary of the Army asked, leaning forward to look at his military equivalent. "Are they related?"
"I don't know," the general replied. "Are they?" He addressed Alice.
"Not directly, sir," she responded with a small sigh. Why did it always have to come out when she really didn't want it to? "Alastar—I mean, Congressman Kelly is my mother's brother, and Simon's my father's. They met at my parents' wedding and have been friends ever since." And political allies, she didn't add; but as much as she was furious at Simon at the moment, she didn't think it was wise to discuss his political views before this panel.
"Well, that's interesting," the Assistant Secretary said and Alice wondered if even this little tidbit was somehow advantageous to know—though she imagined it shouldn't be a surprise to the more politically savvy.
She didn't respond and a few seconds of contemplative silence followed, before the Under Secretary cleared his throat.
"Alright, then. Anyone has any more questions to Major Boyd? No? Then thank you very much, Major, your testimony was most fascinating and I'm sure it will be very useful to the Secretary of Defense when determining his final decision."
Alice caught the ODEI Director winking at her and understood his meaning. This was a charade—the decision had already been made. Or had it? Would the Director of the Office of Diversity, Equality and Inclusion really possess such information—and share it so easily with a mere major? Perhaps he only meant to reassure her, allay her nerves? Either way, the testimony was over. Stewart said a few more words of thanks and then she was finally, mercifully, dismissed.