The first time he’d stood in this office had been when the Ancients had briefly returned to Atlantis, at least the crew of one ship who had reclaimed their home and turned out the people from Earth like dogs who’ve overrun a temporarily abandoned building. He’d been one of the dogs. It was a new experience being nothing among people to whom all the accomplishments of his entire civilization were nothing, to whom all the great ideological struggles of Earth’s past and present were nothing more than the bickerings of squabbling toddlers. Every consuming problem, every rock-solid identity, whether ethnic, religious or racial, was to them simply foolishness, a bunch of little children arguing over whether it was cooler to wear red sneakers or yellow sneakers.
And yet they’d been killed. The Replicators had exterminated them mercilessly, and they had no idea how to survive that onslaught. Only he and Jack O’Neill had survived. Not that he took any credit for that. O’Neill had saved them both, had held on until Elizabeth Weir had returned with some of her people. Animal smarts had turned out to be the most important thing after all.
Elizabeth Weir. Woolsey shook his head, closing up his laptop carefully. He was not a religious man, and the question of what happened after death was officially not in his job description. All this business of people coming and going from Ascension was disconcerting. That was the word. Disconcerting. Perhaps Elizabeth Weir was in some sense alive, somewhere, but Dr. McKay’s certainty sounded too much like the spiritual epiphanies of so many who have had sudden and life changing trauma. No, the dead were dead, and whatever their fate the dead didn’t return to haunt mortals except through their own guilt or love.
But still, there was a point where it was good for people to feel they’d done everything they could. It gave closure. Closure was an important word. It meant an end, a true and final end, the mystery solved and the file sealed. If further fruitless searching, no matter how belatedly, was what his people needed to give them closure, so be it. Eventually they’d come to that conclusion themselves. He’d be long gone by then, one more bureaucrat they used to work for…
Sheppard stuck his head in the door. “Knock, knock.”
For a moment Woolsey almost said, “Who’s there?” But no. That was inappropriate. “You’re working late, Colonel Sheppard,” he said instead. It was nearly nine.
“So are you.” Sheppard shrugged. “I was wondering if you wanted to go grab a cup of coffee.”
For a moment Woolsey started to reflexively refuse, but no. Why not? It was probably his last night in Atlantis. He could have a cup of coffee with Sheppard just like they were friends instead of people who happened to work together. In a little less than ten hours he wouldn’t be Sheppard’s boss anymore. “Sure,” he said.
They made their way down toward the mess hall, the corridors empty of personnel at this time of night. Only the duty crew remained in the gate room. And of course everybody else was off, either enjoying themselves or getting ready to turn in.
“Going to be strange without you around here,” Sheppard said.
“You’re probably used to it,” Woolsey said. “I can’t guess how fast they’ll send someone out. If you’re lucky, they’ll give it to Jackson.”
Sheppard stopped, looking at him curiously. “Is that an option?”
Woolsey shrugged. “It was last time. But there are IOA members who have doubts about him, serious doubts. They think he’s too independent.”
“And too much like Carter,” Sheppard said shrewdly.
“That too.”
The mess hall doors were closed, and Sheppard pushed them open with a sudden grin.
“SURPRISE!”
Woolsey blinked.
The mess hall was full. Almost the whole Atlantis expedition was there and the tables were laid out for a party. On the nearest one was a big sheet cake with giant blue letters on it: We’ll Miss You!
Woolsey gulped.
“We wanted to say,” Carson Beckett began.
“We wanted to say goodbye,” McKay interrupted.
Teyla nudged him in the ribs. “What we wanted to say is thank you. All of us appreciate everything you have done.”
“Without you we would not be in Pegasus,” Dr. Zelenka said, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. “We would still be on Earth.”
“And that would be bad,” Ronon said.
“Thank you for giving me a chance,” Dr. Robinson said.
“And for not sending me back to Earth when I broke my leg,” Major Lorne said.
“We will miss you,” Teyla said, and Woolsey was glad that her hug allowed him to hide his face against her shoulder for a moment. Crying would be very inappropriate.
Elizabeth endured all the usual tests, only flinching a little as he put the needle into her arm. She watched the dark blood flow into the syringe, watched as he withdrew it neatly and put the pad of cloth against the tiny hole, the pressure comforting. She held it on as he deftly put a drop of the blood on a slide and bent over a microscope.
Any moment now, he would turn. Any moment now his face would change…
“You’re human,” Dekaas said, straightening up. “Your blood cells look perfectly normal. The sonic scan of your internal organs looks perfectly normal. Your bones look perfectly normal. I don’t see anything that’s suggestive of anything else at all.”
Elizabeth took a deep, shuddering breath, leaning back against the side of the infirmary bed. Dekaas came and stood beside her, not quite touching, as though he weren’t sure whether a comforting arm would be an imposition. “You think I’m crazy,” she said.
“I think you’ve been through a significant trauma,” Dekaas said. “Like the Mazatla, I see no sign of recent injury, which does suggest to me that you were healed. Your health is almost too perfect for it to be otherwise.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Too perfect?”
“Almost everyone has some minor issues,” he replied. “Congestion, bruises, a bad tooth, a sore muscle… To have absolutely nothing wrong with you, not even old bruises or abrasions, is unusual. To me, that suggests Wraith healing.” He shrugged. “Or some other kind, but I’m not even sure what that could be. An Ancient device, maybe. I’ve never seen one that could do that, but I suppose it’s possible.”
“I suppose.” There was some device she’d seen that could do that, but the memory escaped her. Something that was dangerous to use. But it hadn’t been used on her. That wasn’t what had happened. “O’Neill,” she said again. “He would know.” He represented something, something powerful in her subconscious. She’d encountered that before, at some time or place she shied away from, some dream that had seemed real.
“O’Neill,” Dekaas said experimentally. “I don’t know this person you speak of, but perhaps someone does. Is he a relative of yours? A friend?”
“A leader of my people, I think,” Elizabeth said slowly. A gate with a turning ring, rather than one that lit. A gate opening in a splash of blue fire… “If I can find O’Neill, I can find my way home.”
Chapter Eleven
General Jack O’Neill was waiting for Richard Woolsey when he stepped out of the Stargate into the gate room beneath Cheyenne Mountain. He gave him a quick nod through the glass from the control room above as Woolsey made the usual pleasantries to the guards on duty. Even though he’d certainly identified himself before stepping through, there were always precautions.
One young Marine came almost to attention. “Mr. Woolsey, General O’Neill wants to see you immediately, sir.”
“Lead the way,” Woolsey said. Whatever his neck was on the line about this time, O’Neill would give him the straight scoop. At least he’d know what he needed to prepare a defense for. There did seem to be an unusual number of Marines in the gate room today.