Episode Seven- Home Again, Part One- Front Cover

Posted on October 31, 2014 by stargateatlantisseasonsix

Happy Halloween everyone!  Hope you are all having a blast this cosplay night!  And with that said, it’s trick and treat night.  The not so great “trick” part is that there is no cover art for this story because I’ve somehow misplaced my Photoshop disc and thus can’t put it on my new laptop to open up the cover art for this story or upload it to this site.  If all else fails, I’ll simply buy a new Photoshop program and, either way, edit this post later to include the image for everyone’s viewing pleasure.  But till then, the “treat” part is that I’m still going to publish the tagline for this story as well as it’s synopsis.  Hope everyone enjoys!

 

Something wicked this way comes.

[insert cover art here]

The Lost City gets a new visitor in clone Jacob Carter and his symbiot Selmak bearing important information from the Tok’ra.  A Goa’uld mothership is slowly making it’s way to the Pegasus Galaxy.

Atlantis Expedition Commander Richard Woolsey quickly dispatches Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard’s team with Jacob to check things out.  When they arrive, they discover that Ha’tak’s practically a ghost ship, completely unmanned but with an unusual cargo of tanks of symbiots.

Seeking to cover as much ground as possible , the team breaks up into two groups with the goals of finding out what happened to the mothership’s crew and why it has tanks of symbiots aboard.  These questions get quickly set aside, however, when Doctor Rodney McKay suddenly turns on his team and fatally shoots Ronon Dex.

Posted in Season Six- Episode Seven | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Episode Six- The West Pier- Epilogue and Acknowledgments

Posted on October 24, 2014 by stargateatlantisseasonsix

Epilogue

John lounges casually in comfy horseshoe-shaped confines of one of Woolsey’s office’s guest chairs. Sans his gear, making him even more comfortable in the cushy seat with his arms lazily draped over the arcing armrests that come perfectly just below his shoulder height with one of his legs balancing on the knee of the other. Every once in awhile his airborne foot bounces from his relaxed boredom. Woolsey also looks far more relaxed sitting behind his desk than when John and his team first returned through the gate. The leader leans on his desk with his elbows sitting on top and his arms steepled so that his loosely clasped hands rest underneath his chin. John makes himself a mental note to ask about what the hell happened here while he and his team and their fifth were gone that put Woolsey, the security detail, and a majority of the city on edge and that John and his team or Kenmore hadn’t been contacted about. But John’ll save that for later, right now it’s finishing up the debrief of the most super boring mission that he’s ever experienced the entire time he’s been in this galaxy let alone the entire time he’s been with the Stargate Program period. For once Sheppard had wanted something to jump out of the forest at them, but…

“…so all we did was check out the forest,” his foot’s bouncing again, “There’d been a rainfall recently so the ground was muddy and that and the dead growth made for a fun trek, especially with McKay. There wasn’t any animal life. No bird life. No fish because we weren’t finding any water sources other than the rain. Just forest, forest, forest.

“And from what McKay was getting on the lifesigns detector, even with Kenmore’s help on making the detector do more things we didn’t know it could do, and with Teyla and Ronon’s knowledge of plants, the plants aren’t hazardous in any way, shape, or form and they aren’t helpful in just as many ways also. So nothing. A big, fat nothing.” The end. Can I go get some dinner now?

Woolsey remains leaning forward on his desk top, “What is your verdict then, do we strike the planet from our database or should we consider further exploration?”

John doesn’t hesitate, “I vote for further exploration.”

Woolsey tilts his head, clearly that wasn’t what the man had expected to hear. The skin between Woolsey’s eyebrows pinch. John senses he has to explain.

“Because there’s nothing of interest there either for food or anything else to the Wraith let alone anything dangerous to humans as far as we can tell, I say the planet merits a more in-depth second check-up than we gave it. Its name could go on the lists for potential Alpha, Beta, or even Gamma sites that choice is up to you guys.”

Richard Woolsey nods, “Thank you, Colonel.”

“You’re welcome.”

John thinks about getting up—

“I have something else to ask you about your mission other than its actual priority.”

—and John forgets about it. He hopes the roiling he feels in his stomach doesn’t make itself heard. Too loudly. On the other hand, his stomach growling that loudly might be the clue to Woolsey to let John go and for them to finish discussing this later if at all…along with particular subject matter of whatever no one’s telling him about and has spooked them all into don’t-speak-till-spoken-to silence.

“What,” Sheppard asks, trying hard to keep the sigh out of his voice. It’s Taquito Tuesday and the guys in the Mess actually make really damn good taquitos. Crispy fried tortillas with the most luscious beef filling John’s ever tasted. With salsa and guacamole on the side for God’s sake. Please, please can he go grab a handful before McKay or Ronon have eaten the place out of stock of the golden fried delights.

“How did your team interactions go?”

Okay, that one is a reasonable request considering the problems with that ever since Kenmore first stepped foot in the city. And it’s something he can answer quickly.

“Pretty good, actually,” and John isn’t lying, “Kenmore stuck mostly with Rodney because of the detector thing and the rest of us just sort of spread out and covered them.”

“’Mostly’?” Woolsey repeats.

Sheppard hoped he wouldn’t catch that. Damn.

“Yeah, uh, Kenmore and Ronon kind of, sort of, butted heads a little.”

“Was everyone covering both Doctor McKay and Lieutenant Kenmore?”

John stays silent. His once bouncing foot not bouncing anymore.

“Well, considering that no one had to report to the Infirmary upon your return, I take it that neither of them hurt the other,” Woolsey goes on. Yet…

“No, no,” the team leader quickly tries to douse the fire, “none of that. They just kept picking a fight with each other like normal.”

“’They’?”

“Hey, it’s not like Ronon doesn’t have a reason.”

“Her presence on the team is not a good enough reason, Colonel.”

John opens his mouth to add that Kenmore isn’t exactly an easy person to get along with…the fact that Ronon isn’t either wasn’t something he was going to mention, but Woolsey speaks again, cutting him off, “And that is not something that is going to change ever, Colonel Sheppard. Your team members are just going to have to get used to that. All of you.”

John narrows his eyes at the man. “It’s not just her being there, she isn’t exactly a nice person to get along with in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I have noticed. And I have also noticed that she has the same attitude about this as Ronon does. Like I said ‘All of you’. They are both not exactly nice people to get along with.”

John reluctantly nods. Elizabeth Weir had the same thing to say and the same reservations about Ronon when he first came to Atlantis and John first broached her about letting the standoffish Satedan on his team. And after her came Colonel Samantha Carter, who had the same problem with Ronon, brought in her Jaffa friend and former SG-1 teammate Teal’c to help with smoothing Ronon’s rough edges in order to make him more presentable to the I.O.A. and make people more comfortable around him. A Wraith invasion of Stargate Command that both Ronon and Teal’c took care of had solved that last problem, but Ronon was still… Ronon. Tall, dark, and surly.

Woolsey does have a point, not one that John likes, but it’s a point coming from his Commanding Officer in this situation and it’s one he concedes to the validity of. Begrudgingly.

“We’ll work on it.” John answers.

“See that you do.” Woolsey reaffirms.

There’s a slight pneumatic hiss as the glass office door behind Sheppard slides open for Chuck Campbell. Woolsey sits up at the young experienced man’s grim expression.

“Sir, we’re receiving a radio transmission from one of our offworld teams.”

Woolsey gets to his feet and comes around his desk as Chuck turns on his heels and Sheppard stands up. Chuck leads them back to the Command Center as Woolsey charges across the gangway with Sheppard right behind him. As they enter the incredibly dark and starkly lit Operations Center operating under midnight conditions, Richard Woolsey looks over at the Stargate.

“The Stargate isn’t activated. How are we getting a radio transmission?”

Chuck answers as he retakes his seat at the DHD station, “The Daedalus is patching it through to us.”

Richard Woolsey nods and stands next to Chuck’s DHD/communications console. Campbell checks his computer then looks up at Woolsey and nods.

“This is Richard Woolsey. To whom am I speaking to?”

A sharp burst of static shatters the quiet. Technicians and engineers around the room wince and squirm at the riotous volume shock. The radio signal is saturated with static and other stellar background noise due to being transmitted through a long stretch of outer space. Through it all though, barely loud enough to be heard is a man’s voice.

“I, uh, my name’s Airman Harold Lewis, Ss-Sir.”

Richard Woolsey’s brows furrow as the rest of Sheppard’s team quietly file into Ops. Rodney bringing along with him his girlfriend, Atlantis’ Chief Medical Officer Doctor Jennifer Keller. Kenmore arriving with Major Lorne, both newly returned from their flight practice and she originally headed to the Gateroom to pick her son up from school on New Athos. Teyla and Ronon coming from the Mess Hall and their dinners, she from a moment of peace with her family and he from a moment’s peace alone. The West Pier staff also arrives without a single scuffle of shoe. Rob and Brad leading the procession that spreads out against the back wall of Frank Lloyd Wright-designed stained glass. Peter and Alan are missing their jackets, left behind in their quarters where they were getting ready for a night’s sleep. Peter’s hair is still wet from the shower he’d taken just before bed. Joe and Paul looking as they have all day long, no one would guess that one had come from a late dinner with his Japanese girlfriend and the other from sitting in his quarters reading letters from home. Martin’s eyes can’t get themselves up from the floor. And Carl has his stress ball in his hand. Word has clearly quickly spread throughout the city to its key people.

Richard swears something’s wrong with the transmission, more than simple static over a radio. “What’s going on, Airman,” his tone softening somewhat to accommodate.

The weak transmission’s severe static pops a few times and suddenly goes silent. Then comes back. Then goes silent again, the threat of breaking up breaking in. But…

“The, the Wraith are culling the planet, Sir.”

Looks go around the room among the technicians sitting at their stations, but the eyes of those standing are zeroed in on the communications station.

Richard turns to Chuck, “Can the Wraith track the signal here to Atlantis?”

Chuck shakes his head, “No, Sir. The Daedalus had barely registered the transmission in the first place. They’re currently boosting it to its maximum gain in order for us to receive it. It’s doubtful that the Wraith will be able to intercept any part of it.”

“The, the Wraith have activated the Stargate and are holding it,” the Airman’s voice tells them.

There’s another burst of static and Richard catches something out of place in it again. He leans forward to the speaker, putting his hands on the cool consoles textured edges.

“Airman, where are you exactly and I’m not talking about what planet you’re on?”

“We, we, uh, we’ve found some sort of abandoned Ancient building underground, Sir. We were trying to help get some villagers get away through the forest and C.O. accidentally fell through some weak ground in the forest. None of the villagers fell down with him, but, uh, he, uh… Sergeant Thomas and I fell too.” There were a lot of breaks in there for pauses not caused by transmission problems.

“And what’s happening now,” Richard asks. Hoping to get more information to piece the puzzle together.

“We fell about forty feet, I think. C.O. broke his hip, we think, and the Sarge is, is trying to help him as best he can. The Lieutenant is still up on the surface. He says that Wraith drones are closing in on our position.”

Wide scared eyes look to from one seat to another around the room. Jennifer seeks comfort in the arms of her boyfriend. He needs it too, Rodney wraps his arms around her and lowers his chin onto the top of her shoulder. She holds onto his hands joined over her chest, pressing her ear against his cheek. They hold each other tight. Ursula subtly reaches her hand over and takes Evan’s hand in hers. Together they maintain the careful military guise of stoicism with the internal emotions of listening to comrades in trouble and not being able to help being kept strictly at bay. Just like John with his fists clenched tightly by his sides. In between he and them though are Ronon and Teyla and neither look stoic. They reflect the emotion no one’s letting out. There are tears threaten to spill from Teyla’s eyes as her taut cheek muscles flex beneath her smooth skin and Ronon looks like he’s going to punch something anything, he wants to activate the Stargate and go barreling into to battle to save these people. Pain, fear, and anguish at not being able to help friends or even innocents in the face of encroaching Wraith. It’s the story of their galaxy.

In the background, like shadows, Rob, Brad, Peter, Alan, Joe, Paul, Marty, and Carl have remained stock still. The demeanor betrays no emotion, but if anyone looked closer, they’d see the emotion swirling in their eyes. The glassiness covering every pair of browns and blues. In a way, it looks like they’re waiting at attention.

“Sarge told me to scout the area and I found a communications room. I got one of the transmitters working with my shoulder radio.”

Richard nods at the speaker, “Good work, that’s extremely good work. And quick thinking, Airman.”

There’s a pause over the transmission and they can hear the bombardment. The muffled sound of pounding thuds followed by the just as muffled but no less distinctive ratta-tat-tat of returning P-90 fire. Wherever the kid is in the structure, the battle is getting closer to him if it wasn’t over his head. For a horrible moment they fear that their link to the attack has left the radio open.

“Than-thank you, Sir.”

There it is again. That strangeness. Richard has to ask, “Airman, are you alright?”

There’s another pause of static…

“Airman?”

…

“I, uh, I hit my head on the, on some rotten scaffolding on the way down, Sir.”

Jennifer gasps as Rodney looks distantly down at the floor in front of her feet. Teyla leaves. She moves from Ronon and John’s side to stand beside Richard Woolsey as the knuckles of Evan and Ursula’s joined hands steadily turn white. John’s squeezes his clenched fists tighter, forming his own white knuckles. Ronon remains still, tense and taut in his own quiet rage at the situation and his own personal familiarity with futility. It sounds just like it had inside the hospital when the Wraith attacked Sateda and he’d gone to the hospital to get…

Richard’s eyes pull away from the grave sight of the people gathered around him and returns to the speaker broadcasting the airman’s voice throughout the room. He had tried to seek solace in his senior staff standing guard in the nighttime shadows at the back of the room but they weren’t giving him anything except for making him stand on his own two feet as the leader of this city and its people. He begins, “What are your injuries?”

“My head is bleeding.”

Richard focuses on the speaker, “Have you received medical treatment for it?”

“Uh, no, Sir, but I, uh, I do have some gauze pads in my vest. But I can’t open the packages without letting go of the transmitting button on my radio.”

“Mister Lewis, tend to your wounds. It’s alright, I’ll stay on the line.”

They get a long pause in reply. Despite the transmitting button supposedly not being pressed, they can hear movement on the other end. Rustling. Heavy breathing. Obviously reluctant to tend to himself while maintaining contact with homebase, the airman must still be holding down the transmitting button. He must be scared that if he breaks the connection he won’t be able to get it back again, his fingers will have slipped off of his team’s only lifeline.

Richard looks to Chuck.

Quickly Chuck leans over and whispers, “That’s most likely due to the Ancient communications device the airman’s radio is connected to.”

Richard nods, not entirely sure he buys that excuse from someone else who isn’t right there with the airman and doesn’t know the reality for sure. He returns his attention to waiting and listening for the speaker to answer him. The rustling continues. Or at least it sounds like it could be rustling. It might be a continuation of the disruptive static. Suddenly there’s a huge boom over the other end of the radio. Richard’s hands white knuckle the edge of the computer console.

“Airman?”

Nothing. Not even rustling anymore. Static.

“Airman Lewis?”

Hiss. Crackle. Pop.

Richard Woolsey’s head snaps to Chuck, “Is the Daedalus capable of getting to them?”

Chuck didn’t have to check any of the computers or the technicians around him to answer. He shakes his head, “No, Sir. They’re still experiencing problems with their shields. They wouldn’t last a moment in a firefight with a fully functioning hiveship. The Daedalus really is doing all they can just by relaying the signal at maximum to Atlantis.”

Richard nods, the muscles in every part of his body tightening with the news.

Another boom. Then another. And another come over the weak radio signal. Strangely, to Richard, it sounds like the steady drumming of a courtroom’s gavel… then the clear and distinct screech of a dart. Muffled but undeniable. The storm is getting closer to the airman.

“Airman,” Richard demands urgently.

“Yes, yes, Sir?”

“What’s going on now?”

“We, uh, we lost contact with Lieutenant Sheen on the surface. The, uh, the Wraith bombardment has started a forest fire. Some of the debris is falling through the hole on Major Aaron and Sergeant Thomas.”

Richard looks around but never up. His eyes move from side to side, focusing on nothing, not even the console he’s holding on to. He can see that he’s not shaking but he feels like he is. How can this be possible? How can this be happening? Is it a new rise in Wraith aggression towards humans for the five Stargates going down? Did the Wraith even know the gates had gone down temporarily? How? Their followers, the first worshippers? So many questions, so few answers… and a young man on the other end of a radio in the middle of it all. Or rather, with all of it bearing down on him and the rest of his team, his senior officers.

“C.O. and the Sarge are trying to fig-figure out a way to move further into this building. Away from the hole without further injuring him. But, but they’re, they’re not… having any luck.”

Richard doesn’t know what to do. He’s never, how do you…  His eyes aren’t moving from side to side anymore, but he still isn’t focusing on anything. Still feeling like he’s shaking all over. He’s at a loss. What can he d—there is nothing he can do, is there? For once in this galaxy, for once in his leadership, there is nothing he nor anyone else can do. No flagship team that’ll pull through in the clutch. No friendly ship that’ll suddenly show up to do the exact same thing…  But there is something he can do.

Richard Woolsey turns and finds a spare chair nearby. He pulls it over to him. And sits down right next to the speaker.

“Airman, the Daedalus experienced problems with the Genii today. She has no shields to go up against a Wraith hiveship and with the Stargate on your planet still being used by the Wraith, we can’t dial in any help for you.”

Static rattled silence takes over for a moment then…

“I understand, Sir.”

Richard takes in a deep inhale.

“Airman?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“I’m going to stay on the line with you as long as the transmission holds.” Teyla steps closer and puts a hand on Richard’s shoulder. She rubs her thumb against his body, applies a gentle squeeze of pressure, and he feels the surging comfort of her presence with him.

They hear the muffled screeching of more darts. More bass booms of Wraith fire slamming down on the planet surface. More static with no answer.

“Hang on, Airman Lewis,” Richard looks at the speaker, “Tell me more about yourself, like if you mind if I call you Harold?”

Still no answer. The hissing of the radio static is getting to him, “Airman Lewis?”

“No, no, I don’t mind if you call me Har-Harold, Sssir.”

Richard would smile to himself if it weren’t so obvious that Harold’s head wound’s damage was getting far more serious. It was either that or blood loss. Either was not good. Both mean that he’s running out of time physically.

“I, I’m nineteen, Sir,” Harold volunteers.

Richard closes his eyes and hears Jennifer sniff a sob back quietly. Teyla’s grip intensifies on his shoulder. He can feel the tears brimming in her eyes.

“And I, uh, mmm, I’m from Phil-Phila… Philadelphia.”

“So am I. Every time I’m back in East Passyunk, I go to Pat’s.”

“Yeah,” Harold breathes airily, a try to laugh, “They really are the King of Steaks.”

“Says so on the sign. I get a one wiz with.”

“I, I, it’sss a one provolone without for me. I-I-I’m not big on, on… on fffried onions.”

Dick laughs airily too.

Bombardment filled static takes over again.

…“I, I, I’m uh-uh-afraid of the dark.”

Never before has anyone from this Expedition ever sounded so young and so much like a boy rather than a man. Combat asks so much of a soldier that you forget that they’re someone’s child. You forget sometimes that the young ones still are children.

“Is it dark, Harold,” Dick asks.

“Yeah,” comes the breathy reply, “But I, uh, I’m using… mmm-my lifffesssigns… d-d-d-detector asss uh nigh,” a breath, “nighttttlightt.”

An admiring smile spreads across Dick’s mouth even as the thought comes to him, Time is so fleeting. “Good thinking again, Harold.”

“Than… thank you, Sssir.”

“Call me Dick.”

“Ddddick.”

“First, your shoulder radio, now, your lifesigns detector. How did you learn to be this creative, Harold?”

“I-I-Itt wass my, my Dddad. He, uh… he use-used to fix-sss cars.”

Dick keeps listening and keeps replying. Staying by Harold’s side until the whole world goes dark.

 Acknowledgments

To say that this was an easy one to write would be a lie. I didn’t think it would move me, but I cried as I wrote the Epilogue, on two drafts. After one of the drafts, I went to my mother, still tearful mess, hugged her and thanked her for being a soldier. When I started thinking of a one-off episode, I really didn’t have anything in mind. It wasn’t until I bought a used copy of the television series The West Wing’s First Season that I got the inspiration to do a behind-the-scenes look at the people behind the operation of Atlantis, the personnel other than Sheppard, his team, or Woolsey and Jennifer. In doing this, certain people had to feature heavily. Some we know already like Doctor Radek Zelenka, Major Evan Lorne, and Colonel Steven Caldwell, but other personnel I had to create. For this I looked to many sources. The first were the actual writing staff of Stargate Atlantis. I’ve embodied them here as the Atlantis Expedition Commander’s Senior Staff, the power and the people behind the throne, so to speak. Secondly, I turned to the fans. Some I’ve met only through blogs and Gateworld.net and others I’ve met at Stargate Conventions. As I write this, I’ve learned that this same day that those conventions will be coming to an end. It seemed fitting that my mindset of loss was the one I had when writing the final draft of the Epilogue of this story. To all fans who’ve lost something, at this moment, I feel we all have… except for Gateworld.net. And to Joe Mallozzi who, when I informed him about the impending loss of the convention circuit for Stargate fans, replied to me that it’s time for an old fashioned fan-driven con, I thoroughly agree! And so I dive into the rest of the acknowledgments for contributions to this story, I’ll be going in story chronological order. First thanks goes to Ben Wilcox, a convention friend. Welcome to the canon of Stargate Atlantis! Kudos my friend.  Woo-whoo! And thank you for keeping in touch beyond the days of the convention. Enormous gratitude to Patricia Stewart-Bertrand, one of this blog’s followers and the namesake of the character. When looking for characters to flesh out the other personnel of Atlantis’ Expedition, I couldn’t think of any people more deserving than the very people who made the show the success it was and still is: the fans. Patricia is also a member of the Stargate fan group known as the Wormhole Riders (for more information go to their website at www.wormholeriders.com). It’s fans like her and the rest of us that keep the franchise’s flame alive and the Stargate always open. Thank you for your contribution to this story. Hopefully, Doc, you’ll feature in more stories as will Ben. In giving Adame and consequently the Kelore character from the Stargate Atlantis Season Five episode “Inquisition” the last name of Va’lar, I didn’t have to look far. Va’lar is a direct reference to the actor David Lovgren’s, who portrayed Kelore, Stargate SG-1 character named Va’lar in the episode “Threshold”. It actually makes for pretty cool full name. The name of the Airman that features in the Epilogue of this story is actually the same name of the same sort of character in the West Wing episode “The State Dinner” from which this scene is derived. It’s a blatant homage to the television series for which this entire story is based. Thank you Aaron Sorkin and Tommy Schlamme for this inspired series that I thought would be the best possible representation of what a behind-the-scenes look at Atlantis would be like. Still one of the most emotional moments for me when watching that series is when Mrs. Landingham tells Charlie Young about why she’s sad at Christmas. It’s because her twin boys died in Vietnam around Christmas time and she can’t help feeling both then and now that her two little boys needed their mother and she couldn’t be there with them. It’s truly haunting and something I think gets lost during every war: these soldiers are always someone’s children. May we always remember that. And honor it as well as them. Finally, I give my thanks to Robert C. Cooper, Brad Wright, Peter DeLuise, Allan McCullough, Joe Mallozzi (and Akemi), Paul Mullie, Martin Gero, and Carl Binder and a shout out to Martin Wood, Ivon Bartok and Lawerence (Joe and Paul know who he is as do anyone who follows Joe’s blog). You are the writers who created this fantastic universe that every week and, when they came out on DVD, every day we love to spend time in, really, we wallow in our time in everything Stargate. All fans, no matter what we may say, owe you a huge debt of gratitude because if it wasn’t for your writing of Stargate Atlantis let alone Stargate SG-1 and Stargate Universe, we would not have had this franchise to indulge in. Thank you. And welcome to the canon of Stargate in a different way than you had in it before. Thanks.

Posted in Season Six- Episode Six | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Episode Six- The West Pier- Chapter Fourteen

Posted on October 17, 2014 by stargateatlantisseasonsix

Chapter Fourteen

All around the planet and the city of Atlantis the day has ended. Sunset’s burnt umbers, deep golds, and brilliant oranges have quickly been engulfed by the freshly brewed black of night clearly taking hold of the planet. The change in exterior lighting affecting Atlantis as well as the ocean. The darkness punctuated by the pinpricks of city lights like a private cluster of amazingly beautiful stars. Everything is calm and peaceful and serene. Like usual.

 

 

The Stargate activates and its glow from the stabilized event horizon casts stark pale light all over the Gateroom’s rust-colored marble and silver banded flooring, it’s quickly dissipated by the thorough saturation of the overhead ceiling lights and wall sconces. Ladon Radim saunters up to the familiar mode of transportation with Richard Woolsey beside him and a security detail of still fully armed and willing marines behind them. With only a handful of feet between them and the active gate, the two leaders come to a natural mutual stop and face each other.

“I hope that the good relations between our two peoples will continue,” Radim tells Woolsey. Preempting the unwritten protocol of the resident leader speaking the usual goodbyes, whatever the lines may be, before the guest leader does.

“I agree,” Woolsey smiles, accepting the breach.

The two men shake hands and while they do…

Richard speaks quietly and discreetly, sending a message just for the two of them, “Mister Radim, I believe you need to clean your house. For both our people’s sakes.”

Ladon, just as quietly and discreetly, informs back, “You should consider doing the same, Mister Woolsey.”

Finally this is the comment that actually throws Woolsey. Let alone is Radim proud to see it, but he’s also proud to feel it in the sudden laxity in Woolsey’s normally equally as firm as his own grip. It’s the first proof he’s gotten that this man, this new leader of Atlantis, isn’t as implacable as he seemed, as put together and controlled as he seemed. Like Ladon himself. This man is fallible. As capable of being disturbed by something he had not previously known as Ladon himself. And like Ladon, the man didn’t let any sign of that disruption slip to any of his subordinates. Indeed, this Mister Richard Woolsey is very much like Ladon Radim. True leaders, the pair of them.

As soon as Ladon’s feet touch the soil of his homeworld again, he will re-enforce his attentions to the Atlantis Expedition with renewed enthusiasm. If the Lanteans now have a leader comparable to himself, he’ll have to be on his highest alert. He’ll also have to resume testing himself. That was always one of his favorite past times that he hadn’t been indulging in for quite some time: playing complicated board games with himself. If memory serves him correctly, he believes that the Lanteans have a similar game. Either Colonel Sheppard or Doctor McKay or perhaps even Doctor Weir mentioned it once, they call the game chess. With that and a final handshake, Ladon Radim turns and leaves.

The Stargate shuts down with its usual strange sound that wasn’t unlike the sound of a zipper zipping being distorted through some sort of sound machine.

Woolsey takes a few moments to think about Radim’s words. What did the man know about Atlantis’ relations that he didn’t? What had the Genii heard? What missions had let little things slip that might indicate even bigger problems? Was there a threat coming from within, much closer than Earth?…  Or maybe the Genii leader is playing his customary mind games. Richard turns on his heels and signals the marine detail to return to their usual posts. For his part, Richard Woolsey starts heading back to the welcoming staircase that leads back up to the Gateroom’s upper level and the Operations Center half a level that or the rest of the city depending on which way you chose to go when you got to the staircase’s landing.

Suddenly the gate reactivates.

Woolsey freezes. His head immediately shoots up to Ops.

Chuck isn’t standing in view on the balcony, but he shouts from where he sits at his station, “Incoming wormhole!” Then the pause for the confirmation if any, “It’s Colonel Sheppard’s I.D.C.!”

Woolsey holds the breath in his chest as he and the detail rush back to the embarkation floor. Two hours late. Like usual.

“Let them in,” he orders as he rushes back to the very spot he said good-bye to Ladon Radim from seconds earlier.

Another few seconds later, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard and his team and their fifth member, Lieutenant Ursula Kenmore, return to Atlantis’ Gateroom through the Stargate to the sounds of individual slurps from their mud-soaked boot soles. They aren’t wet, so it must have been from their trekking on the planet. Sheppard walks forward, leading his team right up to Woolsey.

As he walks forward, Sheppard’s cool grey-green eyes dart from side to side, blatantly taking in the sight of the security detail still sticking around behind the Expedition leader. John also takes note of Woolsey’s grim and on edge facial expression. The gate shuts down behind Atlantis’ flagship gate team.

“Expecting company,” Sheppard playfully inquires, leaning in to Woolsey a little with his usual swagger before coming to a standstill.

Richard sighs, “No more than usual, Colonel Sheppard. Why did you come back rather than check in?”

This time it’s Sheppard’s turn to sigh, “Well that’s because it was a big, boring bust, Sir.”

Richard’s thoughts are envious as the expecting tension that had kept him on edge while waiting for whatever shoe Sheppard may have had to drop ebbs away from him. If only he’d had the luck of the draw and gotten that easy day this time then he wouldn’t have to record messages for the families of the fallen later. However, it is nice that Sheppard’s team for once hadn’t run into any trouble be it from outside forces or their own rather fragile inside ones. At least it doesn’t look like infighting had won out over the mission, both the Lieutenant and Ronon had mud on their boots not on their bodies. Good sign. Hopeful sign. Moving on.

“Well, Colonel, you can give me your debriefing in my office as soon as you and your team return your gear to its proper locker room locations. Just you, Colonel, I’m sure I won’t need the others to tell me how much of a boring bust it was. Lieutenant Kenmore, you are to report to the jumper bay. Major Lorne is waiting there in Jumper Two for your pilot training. When his evaluation with you is done, tomorrow Colonel Sheppard and the rest of your team will join you in Jumper One, Major Lorne and his team will take over Jumper Two, and your two teams will engage in team jumper exercises for a couple of hours.”

Kenmore looks around at the rest of her team, catching a few of their ‘Huh?’ glances, then her eyes return to Woolsey and she nods, “Sure.” She hadn’t expected Woolsey to say any of that, it looked like neither of the other four had either, but okey-dokey.

Sheppard nods too, acknowledging the orders given to him as well, “Will do.” One-on-one debriefing time, oh yea.

Woolsey nods. At least he’s not getting a battle from anyone on that, that’s another skirmish won today. One of few. His shoulders finally ease up too. Richard Woolsey re-signals the security detail to break up as they had been trying to do before the gate registered an incoming wormhole. And he heads back up the staircase to the Operations Center and his office. God, what a welcoming sight.

Sheppard and his team and Kenmore begin walking out of the gate room while starting to unzip their vests and get out of their gear on their ways to their gender respective locker rooms and whatever’s next for them after that be it a debriefing, flight training in Ancient technology, a tray laden with dinner in the Mess, a quiet peaceful moment with family and a recounting of their day, or a nice long soaking bubble bath in a deep tub or dinner with the girlfriend…  or both.

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Episode Six- The West Pier- Chapter Thirteen

Posted on October 11, 2014 by stargateatlantisseasonsix

Chapter Thirteen

A small part of space suddenly becomes anomalous. A cloud blooms with strikes of lightning lashing out from it and the Earth ship Daedalus comes out of the hyperspace window. It heads straight for the planet the Atlantis Expedition has designated PWW-014. It’s a jewel from space. Spherical and a breathtaking mixture of emerald and sapphire and pearl. Just like Earth. And just like on their home planet, sometimes the help comes from the skies.

 

 

The Daedalus’ bridge, once illuminated by semi-bright lights set to sunset conditions have been tempered down to practically obsolete by the overwhelming red lights of the alert conditions status she’d travelled here under, creating an unusual blend of lighting situations, is abuzz with activity. Men and women uniformed in khaki green jumpsuits rush around. Everyone making sure to get where they need to be when they need to be there with everything they’re supposed to have at their disposal. Final preparations underway. Heading into the final stages. From here on out the only thing expected of this tightly run crew was nothing short of the best it could give. Surprises were going to be the only thing out of their control and even then it wasn’t going to be for long. Colonel Steven Caldwell once again presides from his command chair, eyeing the planet out the windows of his ship’s bridge.

“Status update,” he demands.

Lieutenant Stuart answers, “Doctor Zelenka says they still aren’t getting the plasma beam to accept the anti-virus program.”

Caldwell sighs, “Patch me to him,” then, “They’ve had the whole trip over here,” he complains under his breath.

“We know that, Colonel,” the Czech scientist’s irked voice comes over the bridge’s speakers, “That is why we have come up with a backup plan.”

“Which is,” Steven demands.

“You have to take the Daedalus into close stationary orbit over the place where the ship’s scanner’s detect the Stargate is and usek a shield burst to transmit the anti-virus down to the planet’s Stargate.”

That’s not going to work, Steven frowns, “How? Even in orbit we’ll still be too far away for the burst to have enough strength to reach the planet’s surface with any force.”

“That is why we are going to upload the anti-virus into the shielding and connect the three generators as well as rely upon the Daedalus’ own abilities to power its shielding at maximum. That should give the burst enough strength to allow the anti-virus to reach the Stargate and download into it at the same frequency as one of the Stargate Network’s systems’ update programs.”

Steven starts nodding, Okay, now that sounds like it might work. “Get on it, Doctor,” he turns to Bishop, “Establish a stationary orbit close to the planet directly over where the Stargate is.”

Lieutenant Colonel Patrick Bishop nods, “Yes, Sir.” The dark-skinned man quickly goes to work on his console.

 

 

A surge of its thrusters propels the Daedalus gently forward. Closer to the planet. Then its forward thrusters engage and the ship brings itself to a controlled stop.

 

 

Patrick looks over at the Colonel and nods.

Caldwell opens the radio link to Zelenka back up, “Doctor Zelenka, we’re in position. Waiting on you.”

Frustrated sounding Czech comes over the bridge speakers at a mile a minute. Even though he doesn’t speak the language, Steven’s pretty sure from the sentiment that there’s undoubtedly curse words being flung around all over the place down there. Steven stays silent, but with a lopsided smile on his face while Doctor Zelenka puts his frustrations to good use like usual. After a few more minutes of sputtering in his native tongue, the good Doctor regains himself enough to speak English again.

“It is done. Please power up the shields, Colonel.”

Caldwell refocuses his gaze out the windows ahead of him again. Zeroing in on the planet so close below them.

“You heard the man,” he tells his crew, “Raise the shields to full power and transfer control of them over to Doctor Zelenka and his team. Doctor, it’s up to you now.”

There’s more Czech. Most likely all of it curse words. Then…

“Thank you, Colonel.” Spoken in a thickly accented, tight and terse voice.

Caldwell nods as his eyes remain trained out the windows in front of him. His smile becomes a little less lopsided.

 

 

An oval of multi-colored, multi-hued light quickly shimmers into existence around the Daedalus.   The shields’ intensity starts growing brighter and brighter as the power builds in them. When the shielding becomes so bright that the ship is barely visible inside of the artificial ellipse of peacock-colored light anymore, it explodes. Bursting away in a brilliant shockwave. The frost of pastel iridescence quickly travels down to the planet’s surface. Dissipating back to invisibility as it goes. Losing itself in the heavy puffy cloud cover of the world’s atmosphere.

 

 

Still sitting, waiting, in his command chair, Colonel Steven Caldwell gets restless at the fact that he can’t see the shield’s shockwave anymore. He tries hard not to appear too itchy to his subordinates. Too cracked in the façade of command. But his fist hits the control panel on his chair’s armrest, radioing Zelenka.

“Did we succeed?” He asks and masks the urgency in his voice with stern demanding.

He get’s nothing except for the crackle of radio silence.

“Doctor Zelenka. Was the plan a success?” He orders and the man better give him an answer this time. The scientist won’t like what’s beyond stern orders. Steven’s never had to get mad at his crew. The Atlantis bunch, sure; his anger is always palpable with them. As far as he’s concerned they have no respect for their Chain of Command and that has always resulted in them butting heads on basically everything, of course he’s gotten mad at them before. He refuses to do it again. This time he’ll be more than just mad. And that’s a dangerous thing only opponents in hand-to-hand combat have seen from him…

There’s coughing over the bridge’s speakers. Radek Zelenka’s coughing.

 

 

Radek tries in vain to swat away the dark putrid smoke filling up the small cramped room as other Atlantis personnel behind him struggle to get the room vented properly by keeping every door open until the fire suppression system kicked in and sucked all the smoke out for them. It’s a decent effort, but there’s too much smoke and it’s resulting in a pitifully slow vent. To add emphasis to the smoke and the futility of the swatting and venting, the naquadah generator plugged into one of the Daedalus’ computer walls right in front of the gagging scientist sparks brightly. Spewing another fat puff of black acrid smoke into the air along with a quick firework burp of golden sparks. As if not to be left out, the other two generators lined up next to it spark, sputter, and spew as well. Radek shrinks away from the fire spitting as do two other members of his team, one temporarily holding back the use of the fire extinguisher in their hands until their done wincing away from the vomiting of the generators. When it’s safe, he stands back with his back to the opened door to the room and let’s his extinguisher’s contents loose at the generator farthest away from Radek as the science team leader finally answers the radio.

“Yes, Colonel, it did. But we have overloaded the shield generators. I am afraid that we are defenseless until we can fix the problem.”

 

 

Steven fights the sigh in his throat. He has to roll his head a little to shake out his tension kinks, but he reigns himself in quick enough. “What’s the damage down there, Doctor? Can you start getting the shields back online right away?” At least he won’t have to get dangerous on the seemingly hapless Czech scientist. No combative opponent here yet.

There’s more coughing for an initial reply.

 

 

Radek starts nodding at the intercom, “I really cannot tell right now. There is too much smoke. Everything appears to be well within our capabilities to repair, Colonel, and we are already trying to do what we can.”

 

 

Caldwell nods. They’ll just do as they normally do and take the problems one at a time like usual. “Thank you, Doctor. I’m sending you all the engineering teams I have.”

Steven turns his chair and looks over at a technician standing by behind him and nods at her waiting eyes. She immediately turns toward the computer panel beside her, opens an internal communications line, and starts issuing the order for all engineering teams to report to the shield generator room as soon as possible. She repeats it again, adhering to the strict protocols of urgency and efficiency. Repetition ensures that no one misses the call to duty.

Suddenly the lead communications technician announces, “Sir, we’re receiving a transmission from the planet’s surface. It’s the gate team.”

“On speakers,” the Colonel demands, turning his command chair back around to face the bridge view of the planet.

Mark does as ordered and the voice of the gate team leader fills the bridge in mid-sentence.

“…ine. I repeat, this is Major Ray Urbaniak. If anyone is out there getting this, we are all fine. I repeat, we are all fine down here.”

“Major Urbaniak, this is Colonel Steven Caldwell onboard the Daedalus. It’s good to hear your voice. How about the Genii?”

The team leader sounds relieved, “We and some of Ladon Radim’s Genii took out a group of rogue Genii led by a man named Taryi who were holding us hostage. All we needed was an opportunity to act and thanks to you guys we got it. Taryi’s guys detected the Stargate coming back online without their ordering it to and us and Radim’s men got the drop on them because of the confusion. Thanks.”

Steven smiles, “Always ready to lend assistance, Major. How are the villagers doing?”

“They’re doing great, Sir. They stayed out of the way and kept their heads down while we did what we needed to do to regain control of the situation. Everything is going great down here actually. The people are grateful to us for defending them from Taryi’s Genii and are eager to establish further friendly relations with Atlantis. They’re also grateful to Radim’s Genii for the same thing and are agreeing to give them part of their harvest regardless of protection from the Wraith.”

Caldwell doesn’t like hearing that. It’s always rattled him the way situations involving Ladon Radim and his Genii always ended up benefiting them, but with what’s happening on the other planets with downed Stargates, beggars cannot be choosers.

“Sounds like you’ve got yourself a win-win there, Major,” he comments while keeping the unhappiness out of his voice.

The team leader laughs a little and Steven’s glad the Major hadn’t picked up on any disappointment or aggravation from him, “Yes, Sir, I think we do for once.”

Yes, you do for once…  “Well, I guess all that’s left is to ask if you guys want to hitch a ride back home or walk?”

There’s another little laugh, “If it’s all the same to you, Sir, we’d rather take the ride.”

Steven smiles broadly and breathes easily, “Understood, Major. Standby,” he turns his chair towards another technician, “Beam up the team as soon as you can.”

The tech nods at him and taps his radio earpiece to get that specific area of the ship to work getting the once trapped and stranded two men and two women team up on some place other than a planetary surface among villagers that didn’t really help them or a bunch of frien-nemies that could turn on them as soon as helping them proved to be antithetical to their own personal motives. Caldwell taps a button on his armrest, radioing Zelenka again.

“Doctor Zelenka, how is it looking for making the trip over to M1W-001 then back to Atlantis?”

 

 

Radek straightens up from pulling the plug from the last generator. Two of his team’s members take the cooled and dead energy device out of the thoroughly ventilated room alongside a couple of Caldwell’s people doing the same thing with one of the other generators, “Let me check, Colonel.”

He walks over to the nearest computer console, sits down, and starts bringing up the information he needs. He does a quick double-check then nods at the screen.

“We are fine for both jumps into hyperspace, Colonel, but we should control our speed so as not to push the stress on the hull,” Radek taps at the controls again, “And it is imperative that we make the journey in two jumps. One prolonged jump is simply not safe with the repairs we have made to the shields so far. All the Daedalus can sustain safely is short-term, not long.”

 

 

That’s all he needed to know, the Colonel in the big chair nods, “Understood, Doctor.”

He turns his head towards Mark’s general direction, “Lieutenant Stuart, send a message to Atlantis informing them of the mission’s success as well as the Daedalus’ status and where we’re going next. As soon as we have the gate team onboard and the message sent, let’s go save another team then head back, people.”

Lieutenant Mark Stuart and Lieutenant Colonel Patrick Bishop nod and go to work at their stations with smiles on their faces. Like everyone else on the bridge of the Earth ship.

 

 

The BC-304 designed ship stays still for a few moments then the electric cloud of a hyper window opens a small distance away from it. The Daedalus starts moving, smoothly angling her trajectory towards it, and plunges into the cloud’s center.

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Episode Six- The West Pier- Chapter Twelve

Posted on October 2, 2014 by stargateatlantisseasonsix

Chapter Twelve

It won’t be long before sunset starts to close in on the planet’s horizon. As if sensing it, parts of the Ancient city are already choosing between turning their internal lights on or letting the natural light through her many windows keep control.

 

 

Well lit by his lamps and scones throughout the room, Richard Woolsey sits in his office behind his desk, writing something down on his opened notebook. His eyes flicker for a moment over to the chrome mesh waste basket beside his desk. He’d asked one of the Operations gophers to bring it to him whenever they could and of course the young man had brought it in less than five minutes after he’d asked for it. Its small metal grating currently encompassing several crushed up balls of lined yellow paper. Even from his distance above it, he can see the blue ink of his penmanship scrawled in between some of its lines. He sighs again.

This was like how it had been for him back during law school. Prepping for the Bar Exam. Desperately hoping that his attention to detail during his internship with what would eventually become the law firm he’d join as a fully fledged attorney would prove to be exactly that, an internship that would lead to fulltime employment… then, perhaps, partnership. It hadn’t resulted in partnership, but still. Cramming. Stressing. Making sure everything was perfect. Double-checking to make sure everything was perfect. Every line dotted or crossed with every ‘p’ and ‘q’ in its place such as the case necessitated. Yes, this was going to be just like taking the Bar Exam and feeling once again in the face of people who would become his peers, who he hoped would become his peers, that he desperately wanted them to accept him. Old anxieties come back to haunt his gut and demeanor. And it’s showing up in his writing too. He sighs again, but before he can put pen to paper again, his clear glass door slides open and in walks Rob and Brad, his Chiefs of Staff. The meeting with Ladon Radim must be over. Richard puts his pen down on top of the pad of yellow paper as the men remain standing in front of his desk.

“Well,” Atlantis’ permanent Commander asks, even though he feels he pretty well knows their answer.

“We’ve confirmed everything he’s said,” Brad Wright tells him.

That surprises Richard, but he holds the sentiment at bay for the moment, “To say I’m surprised he was so forthcoming would be an understatement.”

“That’s because apparently he’s in the crosshairs more than we are,” Brad tells him.

And that’s why you hold back the surprise because there’s always another surprise right behind it called the catch, Richard Woolsey smiles wistfully, “That figures as much.”

Rob Cooper goes on, “We’ve got more, but we’re waiting until Colonel Caldwell and Doctor Zelenka get here too.”

Woolsey nods. He’d been expecting something like that too when neither of his Chiefs of Staff had taken a seat. There’s just some things that either you personally don’t want to repeat more than once or there’s too little time to waste in repeating yourself to multiple people. Either way, he’s learned to rely on either one as their justification and trust in it.

“There’s another thing… Radim says the radiation poisoning from their nuclear research is starting to affect their food supply.”

Richard sits up a little more, “So that’s why the Genii are going after farmers.”

Rob nods, “Yes, Sir. Brad and I discussed it on the way over here and—“

Richard knows the man too well and knows exactly why he’d brought it up in the first place, “We’ll start working on a way to leave fruit baskets in front of their doors without letting them know it’s really us, Robert.”

Rob smiles at him, keeping his sigh of relief internal, “Exactly, Sir.”

All those ‘Sirs’, Woolsey knows what the formality means. Richard is going to have to act after this little debriefing and act quickly. The short brown hairs ringing his head prickle his nerve endings with the idea and all its implications. His shoulder muscles begin to tighten.

Colonel Caldwell and Doctor Zelenka enter the office. The glass door closes behind them. Unlike Robert and Bradley, the two men take up the guest seating in front of Richard’s desk. As they do so, Rob and Brad take that as their cue to move off to the room’s left side and sit down on the white sofa against the left side wall of the small office.

“Did Radim order it,” Colonel Steven Caldwell wastes no time getting down to the key information. Again.

Rob speaks up from the couch, “No, it wasn’t his Genii, Colonel. It’s what remains of Kolya’s.”

Caldwell looks over at him, “Are we sure it’s them?”

Robert C. Cooper nods without batting an eye in the three-quarters profile face of the Colonel’s condemnation, “Misters DeLuise, McCullough, and Gero spent the entire time we were talking to him confirming everything with all of the outside sources and reporting at our disposal. It has all been confirmed. It wasn’t him or any of his people. Ladon Radim is telling the truth.”

Caldwell returns his eyes to Woolsey, “So what’s next?”

No wonder so many found his bluntness so abrasive. However, a legal profession makes abrasion easy to deal with especially when it comes from the other side of the table. Richard leans forward a little, feigning getting comfortable in his chair in order to draw Caldwell’s attention entirely back to him. Richard succeeds and that allows any of his Chiefs to continue informing without Caldwell’s brusque interruptions or military-trained-into-him predilections towards physical intimidation.

Brad leads the briefing in the right direction, “We sent along preliminary information to Doctor Zelenka’s group.”

Radek takes over, “We believe we have a plan. It will require two maybe three naquadah generators, the use of the Daedalus’ Asgard plasma beam weapons, and a form of anti-virus that we have been working on ever since we first discovered the Genii computer virus in the first place.”

Sounds good, Richard has faith in Radek’s judgment and abilities. So that was what the holdup was, what the formality and wait till the others get here meant. No time to waste repeating themselves. Get it all out in one swoop and get it done. But there’s just one hang up and a big one at that.

“Do we have the ability to spare that many generators? That’s almost half of our supply,” Richard objects. It’s not as though he’s looking for guarantees, but his personal experience in situations right beside Radek aside, he’s going to need more assurances than just faith in Radek’s judgment and abilities to agree to these terms. If they lost any or all of those generators, it wouldn’t be like they had easy access to getting any extras. The Daedalus’ own on-ship supply was the least it could possibly cope with in case of emergencies, so no borrowing from there, and with the restricted ship movements between Atlantis and Earth now being implemented, getting new generators from Earth would take more time than ever since he’s taken command of the Atlantis Expedition. The drain on their ZPM would also make dialing Earth for those spare generators a null prospect as well.

Suddenly the office’s glass door slides open for Martin Gero. He walks in without losing any of the sure-footed pace with which he’d crossed the short walkway between the Command Center and here with. But he doesn’t go to Woolsey right away. Instead the Gate Team Secretary walks over to Robert and hands him a piece of paper. Rob reads it then looks up and nods at Martin. He hands the paper back to the young man and the youngest senior staffer takes the paper back. Finally he walks over to the desk and passes it on to his Expedition Leader. The Commander reads the paper and it’s information hits him like a brick. He’d thought Martin’s stony face had been due to the urgency to act and, in a way, Richard was right.

“Colonel Caldwell, Doctor Zelenka, your plan is a go,” he orders, “Rush everything and head out as soon as possible to the source planet.”

Radek doesn’t buy into that quick a decision even though it was the one he’d been hoping for, “What? What is it? What has happened?”

Richard Woolsey looks at the Czech scientist as he folds the paper back up in his hands, “Ladon Radim’s Genii contacts have reported and we have confirmed that the Wraith worshippers on M1W-001 have discovered that their Stargate is no longer active and believe it to be sabotage. They are currently hunting our team down and our team is quickly running out of time.

“On PWW-014, the people believe Kolya’s men have taken direct control of their Stargate and are holding our people as well as Radim’s Genii and the native farmers in the immediate area hostage.

“And on P1W-001,” here is the toughest part of all to report, “the native people panicked when they discovered that they could no longer use their Stargate. They believe it was an action taken by the Wraith to punish them for taking in the Hoffan plague survivors and being friendly with us. They have sacrificed both to appease the Wraith. All of the plague survivors and our people are dead.”

A weighty hush shrouds the room as Radek and Caldwell react. Steven tries hard to maintain the military discipline ingrained into him so well, but his jaw sets hard beneath the skin of his mouth. Radek’s horror is causing the breathing to seize in his chest and his eyes to widen, his mouth’s fallen open and his glasses are in danger of slipping down off his nose. Brad is the only one that keeps a sense of cool calm, he’d read the news over Rob’s shoulder. It was regrettably not any new information to him despite hearing it out loud.

“Like I said, Doctor Zelenka, your plan is a go as soon as you and Colonel Caldwell can get underway.” Richard Woolsey orders.

Immediately Radek and Caldwell jump up and leave Woolsey’s office as Richard tosses the folded piece of paper down into the waste basket beside his desk.

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Episode Six- The West Pier- Chapter Eleven

Posted on September 26, 2014 by stargateatlantisseasonsix

Chapter Eleven

The door splits open… and Richard Woolsey leans into peek around the cramped room. There doesn’t seem to be anyone here, but looks can be deceiving especially in this room with all of its tall and full foliaged greenery blocking every single view of the walls and the Ancient light sconces. Necessitating the Expedition adding umbrella lights all over the place where the intensely lit overhead triangle-shaped inlaid ceiling lights weren’t enough. According to the city’s internal sensors, Kanaan should be here. He felt awkward simply addressing him as Kanaan. He’d referred to him as Kanaan Emmagan once in front of Teyla and she quickly informed him that it was simply Kanaan. After embarrassing himself, Richard hadn’t asked the next question and it’s been nagging him ever since, what is Kanaan’s last name? Teyla’s is Emmagan, their son Torren’s is—Sure enough the sounds of an infant’s attempt at laughter comes loud and clear. Kanaan is here with his and Teyla’s son. Richard steps in and the doors close behind him with a whisper of pneumatic hiss.

The administrator looks around, the problem now is that the infant laughter had echoed. With how the room is designed and how it’s being used by the Expedition, it’s created a funnel effect. Let alone is the artificial wind created by the city’s air conditioning system easily sent all throughout the area, but also sound. Between the breeze and the sounds… Richard looks to his left then his right, hears Torren babbling happily in his baby talk. And opts for the right. It’s not because he thought that Torren’s voice is originating in that direction, it’s simply the belief that at least he could circle himself counter-clockwise.

He goes through two other flora crowded rooms before he comes to Kanaan’s work area. A simple stainless steel table on rollers with a single shelf beneath it residing as off to one side of the room as it can possibly get. The shelf crowded with crates full of empty orange containers with bright white plastic caps meant for samples and the top shelf’s covered with dusting brushes with especially soft bristles, an electronic magnifying glass, a few samples containers containing items for later analysis, and a white plastic pot with a single plant in it. For a moment Woolsey waits at the doorless entrance to the room and watches Kanaan tenderly seeing to the gorgeous, brilliant ice white bloom standing out from a relatively thin and practically leafless, verdant stem. Not unlike a Faberge egg balancing on the head of a dowel with an occasional sprout of almond shaped paper along the dowel’s length. It’s hard to believe that such a beautiful flower is poisonous considering this morning’s West Pier reports. Finally Richard balls up one of his hands into a fist and begins to raise it to his mouth to cough to let Kanaan know that he’s there when Kanaan suddenly…

“Do you need something, Mister Woolsey?”

Woolsey stares at the man whose unflinchingly calm countenance reminds him so much of Teyla’s. It must be an Athosian trait.

Richard lowers his hand back down by his side and steps further into the room, “I, I—“

Kanaan looks over at him, the concern blatant in the pinch of his dark eyebrows, “Is something wrong? Has something happened to Teyla?”

Richard freezes. Even Torren’s adamant babbling has stopped in the presence of his father’s sudden fear.

Quickly Richard shakes his head and puts those fears to rest, “No, no, Colonel Sheppard’s team isn’t in trouble. It’s,” his voice fails him. This is so uncomfortable for him to speak about. He thought if he went to someone that he didn’t know so well that it would be easier. Isn’t that what people always say about going to psychiatrists? Originally he’d thought about going to one of the newer therapists, Doctor Stewart maybe, she’s kind and attentive, but…  But it’s not easier. Not to him at least. And the more he thinks about it, standing here, he really doesn’t know anybody that well in the entire city so he could have walked up to anybody to talk about this. He could have gone to Patricia Stewart after all, knocked on her office door or sat with her at one of the outdoor tables of the Mess Hall. The problem—

He feels the hand on his left bicep. It’s just there. No intense pressure, simply comfort. Richard looks from the floor to Kanaan’s hand on his arm then up at the Athosian man’s face. Despite the somewhat Cro-Magnon features, immediately he can see what Teyla sees in Kanaan, why she chose him as the father of her child and, perhaps, why she fell in love with him. There’s something to the Athosian farmer… former Athosian farmer that’s incredibly calming, soothing. It’s like he’s made entirely of compassion. The look in his eyes tell Richard somehow that everything is going to be okay without the alien man saying a word. It’s also incredible to Richard to realize that this humane man has Wraith DNA inside of him, although the same can be said of compassionate motherly Teyla. Until you saw her fight. And like Teyla, the rumor around the city is that Kanaan was pretty much an equal match to Ronon as well. However, unlike Teyla, he preferred to be less aggressive in his sparring matches and held back his hits some. Something Ronon has been unsuccessfully trying to break him of for almost a year now.

“One of our First Contacts, a contact involving me, didn’t apparently go so well,” Richard admits.

Kanaan remains silent and lets him say whatever he needs to say.

“I, uh… they apparently find me to be too aloof.”

Richard looks around the jungle-like room again, at the surrounding giant leafed ferns and things that looked like banana leaves and eucalyptus, and inexplicably formed Birds of Paradise plants. But it’s for distraction’s sake. He forces his eyes to return to Kanaan’s continuingly reassuring gaze.

“I don’t know how not to be aloof.”

Kanaan offers him a kind smile and gestures offeringly to a seat on a nearby stool. Richard accepts. Kanaan returns to the flower as Richard sits on his stool facing Torren in his playpen, an Earth one. It’d been a gift from some of the members of the Expedition to Teyla when she was alone in the city and Kanaan and the other Athosians had been captured and, although they hadn’t known it at the time, were being held by Wraith Hybrid Michael. Again Richard can’t help but notice how odd the little boy looks wearing his green shirt covered with a purple little jacket, green corduroy pants, and matching green leather shoes, all in the style of his parents’ culture, playing with Athosian toys in such a definitely non-Athosian designed item. The people of the Pegasus Galaxy don’t have synthetic materials like nylon or hard plastic.

“Why,” Kanaan asks.

“Why what?”

“Why do you not know how not to be aloof?” It’s a simple enough question and Kanaan’s voice carries absolutely no sense of judgment when asking it.

Dick sighs and actually does feel some of the tension ebb from his shoulders. This is easier. He’s made the right decision in coming to Kanaan. Not that Doctor Stewart wouldn’t have been a bad choice, she has a nice smile.

“Because…,” Dick begins slowly then the thought changes in his mind and he has to ask Kanaan a simple enough question of his own, “Do you have people known as bullies in Athosian society?”

Kanaan looks over at him with a puzzled look. It tells Richard all he needs to know, he nods and begins again.

“On Earth we have these people called bullies. They enjoy abusing and harassing other people. Sometimes bullies become physically violent with the people their harming and other times their words do greater violence to their victims. I was bullied.” Still am considering the I.O.A. and many in the Stargate Program.

Kanaan stops gently brushing the leaves of the alien orchid. He puts down the horsehair tool and turns to Richard.

“How—“

“Some of the bullies are even children. In fact becoming a bully usually begins when we’re all children,” Richard interrupts him, sensing what the question was before Kanaan could say it.

As Richard thought would happen, Kanaan’s eyes dart to his son playing with some sort of top. Holding it in his small plump hands and trying to stuff its soft wooden edges into his drooling mouth. Happy, content. Safe.

“Yes,” Richard says, also watching Torren’s natural born innocence at play.

“We do have bullies in Athosian society and it too begins in childhood,” Kanaan tells him. Richard’s eyes go to the man’s profile as he continues watching his son blissfully ignorant of anything beyond the confines of his square mesh-enclosed play area, “It was one of the things that brought Teyla and I together. Many people in my culture were once afraid of the Gift Teyla and I share and have inevitably passed on to our son.

“When we were children, the other children abused us. They tried to cause Teyla and I great harm by throwing stones at us or attacking us in the forest around our village, but… when we sensed the Wraith approaching and learned that that was what that feeling meant and told our elders about it, the others of our village began to value and prize our Gift, to truly view it as a Gift to all our people. Eventually the cruelty stopped as our warnings saved the families and lives of those that had once tried to harm us.

“I pray now that Torren will not have to suffer such abuse,” Kanaan’s dark eyes turn to meet Richard’s, “I believe he will not have to. There will be other challenges for him in the future his mother and I are creating for him, in the future we are all creating for he and the other children of this galaxy both like and unlike him.”

Richard nods and feels a smile perk at the corners of his mouth. Yes, Kanaan is the perfect person to come to about this and perhaps about other things in the future. There seems to be a sort of kinship between the two of them, Richard had almost forgotten about what had previously transpired against the people who had the Gift. A massacre so heinous that no one spoke about it anywhere at any time. A bloodbath so vicious that it frightened every man and woman in this galaxy into fearing that they just might be even more violent and cruel towards their fellow humans than even the Wraith that tortured all humans on a daily basis. It must have been a terrible realization for them, betrayed by their own natural brutality and fear. And it must have been even worse for those they’d murdered, betrayed by those they felt safe with, betrayed by their own trust.

“Then you understand why it is so difficult for me to be open with people I don’t know. There’s always that potential, that ghost of abuse there. I don’t feel safe around strangers enough to,” words fail him again.

“Why has it been easy for you to tell me,” Kanaan asks. Torren makes a restless coo, getting a little fussy and perhaps a little bored with his toy top. Kanaan slips off his protective gloves and goes over to his son. He lifts his little boy up out of the playpen and holds him in his arms, bouncing a bit to get his little one’s amusement back up.

“I don’t get the impression that you judge people, that you’d abuse,” Richard trails off again, this time sensing that he’s drifting into uncomfortable territory but he’s not sure how to say it comfortably. He doubts there is a way to say it comfortably.

“Do you not get the same impression from these people?” Kanaan leans back down over the pen with Torren to fetch another toy, some sort of small stuffed animal.

Dick considers that. He remembers the sunlight of the planet, the lush green foliage that was simultaneously inviting and protective. The people, an exact reflection of the sentiment of their environment. Large wide huts with no walls, just posts that held up the leafy roof. Warm smiles everywhere, kindness everywhere. Cool hands… what’s the expression, ‘Cold hands, warm heart’. He looks up at Kanaan.

“No. Actually, I don’t. They seem very much like you and Teyla.”

“Then why do you not simply tell their leader exactly what you have told me. As I believe Teyla informed Doctor Weir and Doctor Beckett, Charin knew that our world was not the only one to have Gifted people. Perhaps these people have had Gifted people as well.”

Richard nods at Kanaan and Torren and genuinely considers the idea. Torren starts doing this spitting sort of burbling against the fur of his stuffed animal’s arm and Kanaan and Richard smile at the infant boy as Kanaan bounces his son a little in his arms again. Torren smiles and proceeds to start chewing on one of his stuffed animals arms.

Posted in Season Six- Episode Six | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Episode Six- The West Pier- Chapter Ten

Posted on September 18, 2014 by stargateatlantisseasonsix

(Due to an extra busy schedule tomorrow.  This week’s post will be published today.)

Chapter Ten

The West Pier staff, each and every one of them, are stationed around the rectangular table of the main briefing room with Ladon Radim taking up Woolsey’s usual spot at the head of the table with his back to the fan of doors behind him. Everyone’s prepped for near immediate confirmation of everything Radim says. Laptops opened and waiting, a few of them tapped into the Ancient database and the Expedition’s own private database of information gathered during missions. Rob and Brad lean casually back in their seats, ready to observe the proceedings. Joe, Paul, and Carl either sitting up in their chairs or leaning forward with their arms on the table top and eager to begin their roles as the predominant questioners with the occasional question coming from Marty whenever he might be able to pull himself away from his computer screen. He, Peter, and Allan are going to be confirming everything Radim says on their laptops. And to top off the guest list, three armed Marines are stationed at the fan-doors behind the Genii leader. It’s game time and the savvy Genii leader knows it. This will be entirely different from his interrogation at Woolsey’s hands, there won’t be any sign of politicking here.

“Do note you still have an option here, easy or hard,” Chief of Staff Robert C. Cooper informs him, “We are the easy. The armed marines behind you are just the beginnings of hard.”

Ladon Radim nods. He understands completely, he’s done it before himself. And he makes a mental note that perhaps Atlantis’ Mister Woolsey is more like himself than he’d originally thought if these are the men he takes advice from and surrounds himself with, his personal staff. Ladon wonders if these men have been the advisers to Atlantis’ leadership all along and the only thing holding the Lanteans back from coming to the same potential that Ladon’s own trusted advisers had when the coup happened was waiting for a leader like Ladon that would go where they were directing as well as follow the man’s leadership for the greater good of their people. Doctor Weir was an exceptional leader and guided the Lanteans well during her term, but now he wonders if she could have been far more formidable than anyone he’s ever met before. Had she lacked ambition? Is this Woolsey far more formidable than anyone he’s ever met before? Had he surpassed the beautiful and capable Colonel Carter due to his ambition?

Gate Teams Director Carl Binder begins, “What do you know about the remnants of Commander Kolya’s group?”

Ladon begins as well, “After the Commander died, his favorite and second-in-command, Toran, took control. Toran’s leadership was fleeting as Colonel Sheppard killed him on Larris. Since then the group’s current leadership has been continuously fluctuating as Toran had not had time to choose a second in the event of his untimely passing.”

“How unfortunate. Who’s currently up to bat then?” Joe Mallozzi goes second.

Radim lets the unfamiliar Earth expression pass over his head while getting its gist all the same, “One of the five of Kolya’s remaining inner circle.”

It’s another ‘Oh great’ moment, but nobody lets it show. Ladon Radim notices the subtle shifts in their breathing patterns though, the increased rising and falling of their breaths as well as the depth of those breaths. Good, he’s both frustrated and disturbed Mister Woolsey’s senior staff. It had been the reaction of his own committee of advisers when they’d discovered this detail in the wake of learning about Toran’s death.

One rogue Genii in the leadership of many others was a simple matter. They had staged one coup, it would be simple to stage another. Yet, with Toran’s death, there had arisen five rogue leaders over many other rogue Genii. And five coups that would have to be simultaneous would be improbable to achieve. Not impossible, but so incredibly improbable, the Genii just do not have the armaments and reach to pull it off. Then there’s also the little matter of the fact that that would shed direct light on how close the Genii are to an all out civil war and no one needs to know about that. Ever. If Ladon Radim lost that much control of the private affairs of the Genii people, the rogues wouldn’t have to kill him, he’d kill himself. He would take the honorable path that Cowen had been convinced was not the one for himself. Cowen had learned the hard lesson that when the people call for you to step down, you must step down or the people will make sure you step down by any means possible. And your own men will lead the charge. As the matter currently stands, it appears to any outsiders that the Genii government is just having a little pest issue. If any greater attention were shown to the strength and fortitude of Kolya’s forces and how well they’ve been supplying themselves, there are even growing rumors that let alone had the daunting Commander found another ZPM as the Lanteans called the glowing Ancient devices, but that Kolya also may have discovered an Ancient vessel that required such a device to operate it, then it would be known that the Genii are suffering from a plague that has not weakened or diminished in any way in three years but in fact may have grown. He cannot allow that realization to happen to anyone beyond the confines of their own world. He will not.

“Which one is the one you think would do this,” Paul Mullie asks.

“Any of them,” Radim answers, gesturing casually.

Rob’s dark eyes slip to the marines. One steps forward. Ladon goes into survival mode.

“I am telling you the truth. Acastus Kolya was one of our people’s best military leaders both in civil disturbances as well as against the Wraith. The knowledge and expertise he passed onto all those he taught as well as his personal charisma was and is considerable even in death. Any of these men he left behind, men he was incredibly close with, could pull off an attack of this magnitude flawlessly. They would not be one of Acastus Kolya’s men let alone members of his inner circle if they could not.”

Well at least that’s believable, Rob looks at the marine again, gives a slight nod, and the soldier backs back up into his former position. He returns his eyes to Ladon and the briefing goes on.

“Start with the most likely one,” Joe tells the Genii leader.

“That would actually be three of them,” he’d thought that might get their attentions, “Dainian, Taryi, and Devarik. All three have the technical and computer skills to carry out this attack as well as the ambition.” Ladon’s eyes scan each man very carefully for subconscious signs of that same ambition. After all, Ladon had not come to power alone, his committee of advisers came with him.

Paul has the follow-up, “Do you know any of them personally?”

“Yes. I underwent training under Commander Kolya’s tutelage with all the three of these men.” Believing it to be for the greater good at this table, reluctantly Ladon adds, “They were among the first to side with him after I took power.”

The covert mood in the room changes. Ladon thought it would when he let that piece of personal information out. It must be salivating to know that some of his own personal friends had sided against him when he needed them by him the most.

“So which one of your former classmates hates you the most,” Joe asks and fights the smile that wants to burst out on his face.

However, Ladon Radim is the one to start smiling instead. Calm and cool and collected. He thought that question, perhaps not that wording, would come next. “They were among the first to side with him after I took power,” Radim repeats.

Carl sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose before moving the questioning on, “Start with Dainian then.”

“Is very spiritual and believes that the Ancestors will judge his actions, not his fellow man,” Radim doesn’t miss a beat.

Martin Gero frowns, “So religious fanatic, it is.” He types that into his computer.

“Did you think that the Genii are without faith?”

The room freezes uncomfortably. Young Gero stares at Radim. Marty’s eyes flit around the room to the faces of his seven bosses around the room. Then his eyes return to the Genii leader’s eerily patient countenance, “Well, uh, well, actually, yeah, I did think that.”

And who could blame him? The Athosians, until recently, and almost everyone else in the Pegasus Galaxy’s reverence for the Ancients has always been blatant, as obvious and open as a Catholic wearing a big shiny cross. But the Genii. They’ve never been so explicit about whatever religion or religions they hold dear or even if they have any faiths at all let alone that it might be something connected to the Ancients. Although now that the matter’s come up, Marty can’t help but realize if it’s not revering the Ancients, then who would the Genii pray to? Sure as hell not the Wraith. That’s even more obvious than a big shiny cross.

Ladon smiles ingratiatingly and teaches the Lanteans something about Genii faith, “Dain was one of our religious leaders before joining the Commander. Young, yes, but very powerful in swaying people to his arguments. His orations upon what the Ancients had taught our people in the past and what they taught us by leaving our fates to the hands of ourselves as well as those of the Wraith have always been very riveting.” For a moment Ladon’s vision loses focus and drifts into the past. To a time when he sat beside Cowen instead of in his place, to a time when Ladon Radim wore the clothes of a simple farmer and sat on a bench in a simple single-roomed cottage next to the leader of his people and listened to a man as young as himself with dark hair, dark eyes, and pale skin wearing likewise simple clothes and delivering a sermon about the need to take power of their fates into their own hands. A sermon about how the Ancients did the Genii and the people of their galaxy a service by leaving so that they may learn to defend themselves against the Wraith and not rely upon the Ancients to be their saviors but rely upon themselves to be their own saviors…

“He was your priest, wasn’t he,” Marty suddenly asks.

Ladon lowers his eyes to the table for a moment. Normally he wouldn’t actually show that he’s weighing the price he’ll pay for revealing more personal information to other people, not even his own advisers ever saw him do this. Although there is something to be said about the threat of the marines he feels behind him, it’s the threat he knows he faces from public scrutiny if he cannot bring the menace of Acastus’s remaining men continuing to roam free and commit crimes that could bring down humans more than Wraith that presses the issue more assertively for him. His pale blue eyes come up to meet the youngest of the Earth men seated before him, “He was for a time,” Ladon admits, “Before I took control.”

He leaves out that the man was also his personal confidant and confessor. Ladon remembers going to Dain’s quarters in the bunker, his friend letting him in and without word but at the mere sight of Ladon, immediately taking a seat and waiting patiently for Ladon to work up the emotional strength to speak. Eventually Ladon did, kneeling beside the man’s chair. Dain put a hand on his shoulder and Ladon began talking about all of the issues he was having with the planned coup against Cowen. By the end of that fretful night, Ladon had walked out of his friend’s quarters confident in the belief that to remove Cowen from power was the right course of action… and by the end of the next night, after Cowen had been dismissed, Dainian would no longer talk to or see Ladon. Theirs is a bond that has ended up biting him in the ass and a mistake that he will never make again. Ladon won’t even tell his sister Dahlia anything anymore. He kept telling himself that it was for her safety as much his, but he knew better. He knew it was because of Dain…

“How popular was he with your people?”

“He is still the most popular of our priests, as you call them. We call them clerics.”

Martin makes another note and the entire time he’s typing his eyes are as large as teacup saucers. First to learn that the Genii are religious. And then to realize that one of their most dearest priests—clerics still maintains such a sway over the faithful even in a sort of exile with the other rogue Genii…  Wow. This isn’t just a new ball game, it’s a whole new sport. And if the situation weren’t so dire to three teams of their own people, it’d be pretty damn interesting to watch or at least follow up on. Seriously, bucket of popcorn, a soda the size of his head, and a pack of Goobers. Screw one of Colonel Sheppard’s football games on DVD.

Radim returns his eyes to the wider assembly again. His conversation transitioning back from the theological as well as personal aside, “Taryi is…  I have known him the longest of the five, he is the most charismatic of the three. He can pull anyone to his side no matter the discussion.”

“He didn’t pull you,” Paul points out.

“I didn’t pull him,” Radim smiles that smile again.

“Was he a cleric as well,” Marty asks with barely restrained excitement, his youthful unprofessionalism showing through. His fingers poised over his slim keyboard in eager anticipation of the response…

“No, he was my best friend since childhood. More than a cleric. A brother that was never born to my family.” Radim’s gaze goes distant as his eyes lower slightly to the table top at its far other edge. Not since Tary turned…  That had truly been a cold day.

Really. It was autumn on their planet and the downpour of rain was icy and pelted the ground above the ceiling of his bunker office with pounding ferocity. It had been a nice reminder of what up above was like, since becoming the leader of his people, he spent most of his time in the Underground. To hear the rain… it was like a gift from the Ancestors. He sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, and listening, just contentedly listening to the sounds of familiarity lost. When Taryi burst into his office. The bang of his office door thoroughly removed all content as did the face of Tary. Livid. Angry. Done. Before Ladon could even ask what was wrong, Taryi shouted at him about the injustice being shown to Commander Kolya, about how Ladon was hunting him down for no reason other than he disagreed with Ladon. About how Ladon was acting towards the Commander the same way Cowen acted towards his enemies. At that, Ladon shot to his feet. And at that point, Ladon wrangled in his anger, something that never would have occurred to Cowen, something the dead man was incapable of. Ladon came out from behind his desk to tell Tary face to face that the Commander was indeed taking direct action against the new government Ladon had forged and that wasn’t just voicing opinions that disagreed with Ladon, it was treason and treason must be dealt with. Tary railed against that, pointing out that Ladon had committed treason against Cowen. Ladon countered that it was not treason when all of their people were behind him. Tary spat that not all of the people were with him. Shock. That’s what Ladon remembered feeling in the face of his friend. He had lost his best friend. Tary had not been behind him, wasn’t with him. Tary was with Kolya.

Joe and Paul’s eyes shift to each other. Do they press Radim or not?

“And Devarik,” Carl moves the questioning on again rendering the internal debate mute.

Joe and Paul’s eyes return to Radim.

“I was least close with him,” Radim eases back in his chair as he utters the words with a sigh. Comfort resuming in not talking about things quite so close to him and the memories they bring up.

The West Pier staff take the hint, Ladon Radim could care less about this guy other than he’s probably a pain in the Genii’s side.

“He is fearless,” Ladon goes on, far more casually than he was when describing the other men, “Always has been. Even in training, he would take the sparring opportunities that others would not. Sometimes he would succeed in scoring a hit on his opponent, but many, many more times he would fail and the hit would be scored on him. Almost always the equivalent of a fatality.

“However, many believe that, aside from Toran, he would have been successor to Commander Kolya’s command. Such a propensity for action with a disregard for the personal costs was deemed to be something akin to Commander Kolya’s own actions. A sort of mirror reflection of the man. I disagree, Commander Kolya knew the costs very well each and every time he acted and he never disregarded them.”

“But his own son was killed during the invasion you made during the storm our first year here,” Joe begs to differ.

“Even then I maintain the same opinions as I do now. The fact of that matter was and still is that the Commander underestimated the single-handed tenaciousness of Colonel Sheppard. We all did.”

Okay, that does make some amount of sense. Kolya had been incredibly confident in the ease of the Genii’s ability to take Atlantis when she was under siege by the massive storm, the city was after all supposed to be empty. All the Genii had to do was walk in, maybe take out a handful of guards if any had genuinely been left behind, and just start taking things into their own hands. It should have been a cake walk. Should have been. Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard had been in the city still at the time of the takeover and had proceeding to be a one-man army of complete devastation to the enemy forces when Kolya had threatened Doctor Elizabeth Weir’s life. In the single move of raising Atlantis’ Stargate’s shield, Sheppard had killed fifty-five Genii reinforcements, one of which had been Kolya’s son. But even taking into account Sheppard’s unpredictable actions, who would bring their son into a battle zone like that? A seasoned military commander like Acastus Kolya, that’s who.

All of the staff save for Rob and Brad relax a bit. So of the three probabilities, it’s most likely Taryi or Devarik that they’re dealing with. But be wary to not rule out Dainian the Super Cleric In Exile. The three staff members pegged to take notes highlight that name especially. They’re no fools. Earth’s various cultures have huge issues with religious fanatics carrying out acts of terrorism or mass homicide under the guise of piety. With their experience on their home planet, the cleric is likely the most dangerous of all.

“Is it possible all three would act together?”

Ladon aims a sardonic and sarcastic look at Paul as though the Lanteans have learned nothing of his people over their many years experience with each other since their first encounter.

Paul takes the hint on how stupid a question that was and moves on, “What danger are you in?”

Silence.

Paul’s gaze isn’t letting Radim get out of answering this one.

Ladon bites his tongue inside his mouth…  But it’s true. He can’t get out of answering. “Much,” he finally answers reluctantly, “Our interests in both the farmers and the Wraith collaborators are great,” he sidesteps the attempt at defining any personal danger he might be in, “The Wraith’s followers are increasing both their activity and aggression. It’s extremely unusual for them, they’re normally pacifists, ironically enough. They tend to defer to their masters for such military movements as they’ve made of late. Keeping an eye on these particular Wraith servants is of great benefit to us. The farmers are… of agricultural concern.” He puts that delicately and hopes…

“You’re running out of food,” Joe says bluntly. Figuring out the lesser of the Genii’s secret two evils. The more public one.

…to no avail. “No,” the Genii leader corrects.

“But you just said—“

“We are not running out of food,” Ladon forces himself to admit the rest. Normally he would not show so much weakness and fallibility to an opponent, but circumstances dictate that this be the case, “The sickness caused by our weapons research is degrading the populace at a comparable rate.”

Sudden silence requires Ladon Radim to look at every face around this table. Every single pair of eyes and the faces they’re on are sobered to hear that and some part of Ladon is heartened to see it. The Lanteans have always been extremely compassionate people, that’s been no secret. It’s why they’re such close friends with the Athosians, an extremely compassionate race in their own right. He had thought once that Lantean’s kindness and sympathy towards others would be beaten out of them quickly as it had been with the Genii a long time ago… during the better times of the Confederation, when the Ancestors had first abandoned every place they knew here to the wrath of the Wraith… before the Genii had been betrayed for their kindness and sincerity, for their compassion by those they sought to help. But time has proven him wrong on this account. The Lanteans have never ceased feeling and caring so much for the others that they meet. It’s become a strength of the Lanteans and a powerful one at that. And it is the only reason why Ladon Radim is willing to go so far with the truth of the current conditions of his people and governing as this. The people of Atlantis will be more unwilling to use the rest of this information against him far more than any other race in this galaxy short of the Athosians themselves.

“Our food is also becoming poisoned by our work on the weapons and is passing on ailments to our population not already exposed to the research.”

The silent expressions turn stunned. A few of the men can’t even look at him anymore, one looks down and two look away to the walls. The Genii leader erred on the right side of caution, the compassion is palpable and deafening all at the same time.

Carl asks slowly, awed into allowing Ladon a true sense of dignity, “Your people are dying from poisoned food?”

More silence from the Genii. And the rest of the room. Carl’s dark eyes find Rob’s. Damn. That settles that.

“So you’re bullying other people out of theirs,” Joe can’t understand fathom stooping that low no matter the desperation.

“We are requesting no more than their excess and in exchange we are offering them our help in protection from the Wraith.”

“Protection you can’t guarantee let alone provide,” Paul points out.

Ladon locks eyes with him, “We can provide it.”

“How?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why no—You, you’ve done something, haven’t you?” Joe hits on what’s not being divulged.

The compassion dissipates a little under the weight of Ladon continuing to remain silent. He witnesses a different expression cross their faces, one he’s somewhat familiar with although they may have a different term for it.

There’s another ‘Aw crap’ moment exchanged between the West Pier staff.

Gate Teams Director Carl Binder allows Genii Leader Ladon Radim a dignified way out of saying anything else that might result in them holding the man hostage on a more permanent basis. “Why are you telling us this?”

“Because my people are in danger and we need the food. We need those five Stargates back.”

Rob and Brad can’t help but feel something else is going on, something Radim’s not saying.

“What else,” Brad asks.

Ladon looks at him and it’s clear he hadn’t been expecting that question. He’d probably been relying on pity to help him skate by.

“It’s more than just untainted food for your people, we can tell, so what else,” Bradley doesn’t back off.

Now he’s caught in the crosshairs…  Ladon Radim, head of the Genii government, begins reluctantly with wiggle room allotted him by the armed marines stationed behind his back and their commanders sitting in front of him and pressing the question to him.

“If these renegades get this much control of the Stargate network, do you really think that Atlantis and the Wraith will be their only targets let alone their first?”

There’s the clincher. There’s the catch.

Rob and Brad nod and ease back into their chairs. Ladon nods back, why not give them a third obvious evil to think over and keep the first secret evil to himself still. The Lanteans do no need to know it, their relief at what he’s given them so far is enough to confirm this information exchange’s value.

“What else have you got,” Carl moves the questioning on again. He’d never mentioned it to anyone before, but he’s always admired the Genii, developed a soft spot for them over the years. In Atlantis and especially around some of her more senior personnel like Colonel Sheppard or Ronon Dex, any sentiments like that might be seen as treason. Maybe even suspect of mutiny to some of them. And despite himself, he’s also always had a soft spot for Ladon Radim especially… the same way Barbara Walters has a soft spot for Fidel Castro only without the sexual interest. Admiration and respect.

Radim pours himself a glass of clean pure water and takes a sip to wet his mouth and his throat before he continues to answer their questions. He makes another mental note to keep in mind to someday return the consideration this Carl Binder has shown him. If he ever gets the chance…

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Episode Six- The West Pier- Chapter Nine

Posted on September 12, 2014 by stargateatlantisseasonsix

Chapter Nine

The City of Atlantis looks thoroughly unfazed from the outside, clean steel lines and beautiful deep blue ocean lapping lazily against the sides of her piers. But on the inside…  Richard Woolsey hurries down one of the darker hallways with one of his Chiefs of Staff, Robert C. Cooper, and two thoroughly armed marines. It’s hard not to forget that he’d taken this very same path, this very same hallway with other people when the life essence of Elizabeth Weir had returned from the death of her body and was creating and taking a new body for herself. A Replicator body. Against the will and safety of everyone in the city. Something, a line no one ever thought she would cross, not their Elizabeth, not the Elizabeth they knew. Not with the tortures she had suffered at the hands of the Replicators, hallucinations, pain, near constant recriminations for past mistakes, haunting her with every decision she’d ever made that disturbed her. But she was desperate. So desperate to have life back, to be some semblance of human again. All four men’s strides are sure even though rushed, harried and dedicated.

“He seems unruffled by anything that’s happened so far, but that’s not exactly strange coming from Ladon Radim. From what we’ve seen of him over the years, he never lets anything show that he doesn’t want to show.”

Richard nods, “I understand. I brushed up on Doctor Weir’s and Colonel Carter’s reports on him while Major Lorne’s team and the Daedalus were getting him.”

Rob nods beside him. There’s a pause as they round the corner and pass the room, the laboratory that the essence of Elizabeth had walked out of in the replicated body of FRAN, a copied body of Rodney McKay’s Friendly Replicator ANdroid. They continue on to the other rooms down in this end of the city and Robert decides to broach the subject.

“I think your strategy here is a sound one especially against Radim. While this is going on, you should consider giving attention to the other issues raised during this morning’s briefing,” his eyes carefully slip to Woolsey to observe the reaction.

Richard’s eyes dip down to the floor ahead of them, but only for a moment, “I’ll take that into consideration, but right now those fives gates and those stranded gate teams take precedence.”

Robert nods. It’s the reaction that he’d been expecting, “We’ll be in the room when you need us.”

Richard nods again and Robert breaks off from their mutual approach, taking a separate hallway that leads back into the main part of the city again while Richard and the ever silent and ever present marines continue on down the extremely under lit hallway with its black scuffed marble floor and patina green, square-paneled walls.

 

 

Windowless, save for the bank of full-length windows a full story overlooking the area, he has no doubts as to who might be watching from above. It’s an observation area for a reason. There wasn’t anyone standing there looking down at him, but he’s sure that there are guards most likely standing just out of his sight, but not theirs. Armed and ready to shoot down through the glass at him trapped in this room if need should arise. There is a large frosted over window off to the side of the room, but he has no doubt that that’s simply a false hope, a lure to escape without a guarantee of it. He won’t give them that need. In one of Atlantis’ quarantine holding rooms, Genii Leader Ladon Radim stands in the middle of the room. Refusing either of the two comfy looking Lantean chairs of grey wood and plush looking pale grey leather. He takes into account the two Atlantis guards standing on either side of the room’s sole door. Another reason he’s refusing the chair and everything else in the room. His eyes continue to observe the room.

Going from the door, a tall geometric rectangular-shape rising from the matte-finished black marble floor tiles and set into a silver frame with similarly shaped geometric wall designs equidistantly placed around the tall circular maroon-colored room. To the overhead and surrounding spotlights of honey colored light giving all the instant impressions of an intense interrogation with the average man’s height layered scones in key positions around the room reduced to little more than ornaments and accompanying mood setters. It’s dark and ominous and signifying subconsciously that there’s more to this place than can initially be revealed; hidden depths. A corner of Ladon’s mouth rises slightly with approval at the hint whether intended to be a clue or not.

With a telltale pneumatic hiss, the dark-colored sole door splits open at its middle and Richard Woolsey enters. His appearance is tight and crisp. The lighting reflects in his eyeglasses, momentarily blocking his brown eyes from sight. His shoes make no sound. His hair, what there is of it, is well groomed. This man in a way is a mirror. Ladon mentally notes that the new leader leaves a further two guards outside as the door closes behind him.

Ladon Radim throws on his best, most ingratiating smile and assumes the mantle of all ease and congeniality, “Mister Richard Woolsey, I don’t think we’ve met, I’m Ladon Radim of the Genii and might I say it’s always nice to enjoy the hospitality of Atlantis.”

Richard doesn’t let Radim’s attempt to throw him by knowing his complete name get to him. If Ladon’s go-to tactic is to not let anything show that he doesn’t want to show and throw people with little tidbits of information, then Richard won’t show his hand either, but he is not going to let a single bit drop. If Radim wants that, he’ll have to give up a lot more information than he’ll get first.

“No, I don’t think we have, Mister Radim,” Woolsey smiles, coming forward with hand extended.

The two men shake hands.

“Please have a seat,” Woolsey offers cordially with a gesture.

Both men take seats. Richard eases his back flush with the back of his chair, taking an air of common conversation like two old business men sitting down to have a chat about the day’s ventures that they might endeavor into together. An informal business luncheon. Richard was used to this from his time back at his old law firm. He sat for depositions or some informal preemptive meeting at a conference table or over drinks at some lush bar or restaurant in an expensive CEO’s playground hotel. What tension had been in his shoulders while heading to this room eases with the familiarity of being in his element. Not something he got to do all that often in Atlantis, he usually was called upon to be more militaristic commander than litigating commander. Richard inhales and exhales softly as he tugs the bottom hem of his zipped closed uniform jacket. His legs cross and he rests his joined hands on his knees. Comfort. Old hat. This is his house, his law firm. His meeting.

Radim, for his part, doesn’t rest back flush with the chair, but he wiggles mildly into the cushioning and looks to take on a posture that seems easy and common enough for him. No crossed legs, his hands are joined and resting between them though. There’s an element of waiting to the man, expectation.

“Is this an interrogation,” Radim asks casually.

Richard is all business as well, “How do you want this to go, hard or easy? And yes, this is an interrogation.”

Ladon finally leans back in his chair, his back flush with it like Woolsey’s. He smiles. A very different sort of posturing than Mister Woolsey, “You have a very different style than Doctor Weir. My condolences on the loss of her by the way, she was an excellent leader and I enjoyed our many encounters over the years since your Expedition’s appearance in our affairs.”

“She was a far better person than I. How do you want this to go,” Richard replies flatly, again not being thrown by the Genii leader’s knowledge and name-dropping. Richard was one of the people who gave Elizabeth Weir the hardest time during her tenure as Atlantis’ leader… and was one of the few in the I.O.A. truly saddened to hear of her passing at the hands of the Replicators. He’d attended her memorial service on Earth, he’d stayed at the back of black clad crowd, but he had attended and paid his respects to the good and honorable former U.N. negotiator’s mother and ex-fiancé Doctor Simon Wallace. In a moment of haunted grief, the man had admitted to Richard that he’d made up a story about meeting someone else while Elizabeth had been away for Atlantis’ first year because he’d thought that she’d respond better to that and it’d be more final to her than him telling her that he just didn’t want to leave Earth. Richard had meant to tell the Replicator version of Elizabeth in FRAN’s body that, but during the crisis of encountering her and the sudden subsequent arrival of her fellow Replicators, he never got around to it… and now there was no chance of that opportunity coming again. Richard went back to demanding the best of this Expedition’s leadership even if he wasn’t the best person to be giving the criticism in the first place when SG-1 team member Colonel Samantha Carter took over. Now he’s the leader and he still demands the best, it’s just he demands it of himself now. And when Elizabeth as life essence without a body then as a life essence in a Replicator’s body showed up in Atlantis last year and told him that she was glad the city was in such good hands, in his hands, Richard felt a wave of relief and personal redemption wash over him. He takes that wave of confidence into hand in the presence of Ladon Radim.

“What exactly is the difference between ‘hard’ and ‘easy’,” Ladon asks. His smile never wavering.

“I’m easy,” Richard answers, “The military leaders of this Expedition are hard.”

Ladon takes the information with a polite nod. “I’ve met both Colonels Caldwell and Sheppard before—“

“Colonel Sheppard isn’t here,” Woolsey interrupts, “It’s Major Lorne.”

Ladon takes the information again with another polite nod and slightly, ever so slightly the amused smile dims, “And I have met Major Lorne before as well. Our history together is personal and Colonel Caldwell is a… gruff man. He reminds me of someone.”

“Who?”

“Commander Acastus Kolya.”

Richard takes that information. It was another try to throw him and an attempt to sow the seeds of doubt and civil unrest. If Kolya could turn, then Caldwell could. The hard and tense feelings between anyone from the city and those who occasionally visited via the Daedalus was no secret to anyone who’s spent any time around the Expedition. It was also no secret inside the city that Colonel Caldwell had wanted Colonel Sheppard’s job if not the full administrative duties of this Expedition. His not taken well by Doctor Weir security and military protocol changes that Caldwell had made during his brief tenure as Sheppard’s fill-in when the flagship team leader had started to mutate into a version of primordial Wraith was notorious. The argument between the two in Caldwell’s office had been heard in the hallway. Doctor Weir’s vehemence in Colonel Sheppard’s defense led to rumors amongst the Expedition members as well as the Daedalus’ crew members that Elizabeth and John might be engaging in an unregulated personal relationship. Although, truth be told, the same people were thinking that John and Teyla were engaging in the same sort of personal relationship back then at the same time as well, so everything got relegated to exactly what they were: rumors. However, the problems between Atlantis and the Daedalus could not be so easily dismissed or disregarded, there was always tension and Colonel Caldwell is indeed incredibly ambitious. But there’s a code of conduct in Earth’s military and, indeed, Colonel Steven Caldwell exemplifies that. He would never go so far as to stage a coup or open rebellion, Earth’s military is very different from the Genii’s.

“In this circumstance,” Radim continues, “I believe I prefer ‘easy’.”

Woolsey nods, “Good. Two hours ago five Stargates in a localized area of the galaxy went dark. They’re offline. Our scientists have traced it back to the initial gate to fail and why it failed. It was due to a computer virus downloaded into that specific gate and spreading to the other four. The computer virus is of Genii creation. Believe me, we do know this. Our scientists are very familiar with Genii computer code ever since we helped you create and deploy your nuclear bombs. I have three gate teams trapped on three of those worlds. What are your terms?”

Ladon is the placating portrait of innocence, “What makes you think it was my Genii?”

Woolsey frowns at him critically, “Are there any others?”

Ladon raises his eyebrows while he maintains his silence.

Richard takes the hint. The former attorney sighs and shifts in his chair, “You’re having dissention in your ranks.”

Ladon Radim actually laughs at this. “There has always been dissention among the ranks of the Genii. How do you think it was possible for me to come to power over my predecessor Cowen?”

Woolsey’s patience is already wearing thin, but he’s absolutely sure that neither Colonels Caldwell or Sheppard or even Major Lorne for that matter would have lasted this calmly this long in the face of Ladon Radim. “Who are they,” he demands.

“Despite Colonel Sheppard’s removal of him, Commander Kolya left many of his constituents behind. You’ve encountered a few of them as have we. The matter of the attempted disposal of Queen Harmony from her throne for one,” Ladon name-drops again.

This time Richard mentally bites at that one. That might actually be plausible. As with the tension between Atlantis and the Daedalus, tension between Radim and Kolya was equally notorious to anyone who’d even heard about the Genii. He’s still apprehensive though and his expression shows it, “That wasn’t you?”

Ladon shakes his head, amused even more than he had been when first smiling, “No, I have no interest in the matters of a twelve year-old girl or her inconsequential people.”

“And yet you know her age?” The former attorney comes back at him easily.

Ladon maintains his amused smile. Not caught in any clever trap.

“I need to know the details of a matter before I consider it to be inconsequential, don’t I,” the Genii answers him.

Woolsey figured the man wouldn’t be tripped up so easily, but he still had to try.

Richard sighs again, “What do you know about the remnants of Commander Kolya’s people as well as the three inhabited planets? I’m sure you know which planets I’m talking about.”

“I do. We detected the five gate failures the same time you did apparently. Believe me, Mister Woolsey, when I tell you that we have interests in two of those planets as much as you do.”

“Which ones?”

“Does that matter to you?”

“It does to my people trapped on those worlds.”

Ladon smiles again. He likes this Mister Richard Woolsey. Atlantis’ new leader is like him.

“What do you want me to tell you,” Ladon Radim asks accommodatingly enough.

“I need you to tell me everything accurately, and I will be crosschecking it.”

Radim sighs and gets even more comfortable in his chair’s cushioning, now crossing his legs and resting his joined hands in his lap. “Where do you want me to begin?”

“You won’t be talking to me,” it’s Richard’s turn to smile. Without amusement but it’s accommodating enough.

That actually surprises the Genii but he covers it up.

“Whom will I be talking to?”

“My senior staff,” Woolsey informs him.

“But you said that Colonel Sheppard, and most likely his team as well, are—“

“Colonel Sheppard and his team are the senior field team of this Expedition, they are not my senior staff.”

Ladon nods. He hadn’t actually known that.

Woolsey stands up. Good. Opponents that could be surprised were his favorite to litigate against in court.

Ladon, without being prompted to, follows suit.

Richard Woolsey turns and heads for the door then realizes he’s walking alone. He stops and looks back at Radim.

“What are you doing,” Richard asks.

“It is customary when a fellow leader leaves a room for—“

Woolsey interrupts him, “You’re leaving the room as well. You will be escorted to the main briefing room where my senior staff is and you will remain in that room talking to them till such a time as they see fit to end the discussion. Then they will talk to me and I will decide whether or not I will talk with you again.”

Ladon’s semi-slicked back, dirty dishwater brown hair flutters slightly as he nods. That excruciatingly irritating smile returns to the Genii leader’s collected face again. This Mister Woolsey really is like mirror of himself, especially with how much he senses the Lantean leader wants to slap the smile off of his face. A reflection. That’s why he keeps the smile and has perfected it so well. If you can push your opponents to such emotion, they will inevitably make a mistake that you can take advantage of to their detriment.

Ladon Radim walks over to Mister Woolsey, Woolsey turns again, and leads Radim and the two guards out of the holding room to be joined up by the other two guards that had been left outside of it. The four marines take up position around Radim and the group walks away as the room’s door closes.

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Episode Six- The West Pier- Chapter Eight

Posted on September 5, 2014 by stargateatlantisseasonsix

Chapter Eight

The moon is high in the sky tonight… or so he’s been told. Windowless except for shafts of light that were punched through the hundreds of miles of soil and rock to the hidden sanctum dozens of years ago. Generations. The Genii underground bunker has survived here for generations. It will survive for generations more. Lives in shadows as deep as a starless night with light supplied by only artificial means. A land and existence of stone, overhead and everywhere else industrial pipes, grated gangways, metal crates as large as houses, and metallic paneling covering practically everything. No plants. No life… other than human.

 

 

A Genii officer walks into Ladon Radim’s bunker office, crosses over the faded but ornately designed and brightly colored rectangular floor rug, and stops in front of Ladon Radim reclining behind his basic designed desk while checking for grit under his fingernails.

“Do you have it,” Ladon asks boredly.

“Yes, Sir,” the officer reports maintaining stiff attention in the face of his leader.

Nothing happens.

“Well?” Ladon prompts. Simultaneously glad and annoyed that he has to do that. If any of his subordinates ever showed such initiative as to know what their leader expected of them before he’d ordered it of them, well, then he’d have to have them removed for his company. Perhaps permanently depending on how many other Genii hold that subordinate in high regard. Initiative and forethought could always lead to the exact same way Ladon had come to power under the employ of Cowen: by being thoroughly indispensable… and knowing his leader very, very well. More so than his leader knew himself. How fatal for the leader.

The officer puts a small ebony jewelry box on the desk top. Ladon doesn’t bother to look at it as he continues checking his nails one by one. And cleaning them as he sees fit, like his right hand middle finger. There was a small speck of black earth at the left corner. He begins to dig the soil out.

“What did you have to give him in exchange for it,” Ladon asks as he grooms himself.

“He still has his life,” the officer answers bluntly.

Radim suppresses a smile.

The soldier adds, “And enough to drink himself into oblivion tonight and most likely wake up the next morning next to some harlot barmaid he can’t remember the name of in the first place.”

Radim nods. Good, not too high a price. Ladon dismisses the officer with a careless wave of his clean fingered hand. The officer snaps a final salute then turns sharply on his booted heels and exits the room. Ladon continues playing bored a few more moments, blowing away the excess dust around his fingertips with soft puffs of his breath. He looks his fingers over one more time. Just on the offhand chance that that subordinate officer suddenly returned, he would find his leader no more interested with what he’s passed along to him than when he initially put it on the desk top in the first place. He had not risen to become leader of the Genii by seeming too eager for the intelligence others provided him.

Finally the Genii leader reaches over and picks up the ebony box. He looks it over, wary of any traps. It looks well constructed but cheap. He opens it… and frowns. Life and money for drink for this. Ladon Radim takes out one of three small ornately-carved wooden buttons that are inside of the little box. He stares at the fashion accessories for a moment. His eyes instantly catch that they’re Athosian made, but that is the least of his concerns right now.

Anger rankles his shoulder blades, tightening them like wound thick cords, but he quickly suppresses it, douses it, before the hairs on the back of his neck bristle like they’re tingling they want to. Such flashes of overwhelming emotion was what had been Cowen’s downfall. And why it had been so easy for Ladon to sway other soldiers of the Genii to his side in the change of power. A calm, cool head was always far more collected and far more effective than any other. People always looked to control for guidance. Hedonism was reckless and won no one anything of value.

Ladon opens his mouth and begins to draw breath to call in one of his guards from the hallway outside his door and ask for the reporting officer back when suddenly he’s taken away by a strange beam of light…

 

 

…Ladon Radim is momentarily stunned to find himself in the new and unfamiliar environment of some sort of ship’s command center, a bridge he believes they’re called. It’s all clean lines and sleek usefulness. Industrial, yes, but not the Genii sort of industrial, this is relatively elegant by comparison. And he has a very good idea of who the ship belongs to. The Genii leader regains his composure as he turns away from the bank of windows he found himself staring out of. His pale blue eyes quickly find the man in charge of all this sitting in a truly simplistic yet commanding chair on a jut of raised dais at the center of the forward portion of the room. He recognizes the confident ship’s commander from captured photographs and descriptions passed along to the Genii over the years.

Colonel Steven Caldwell holds a small circular device in his hand like a coin he’s admiring the shine of, the same one that Schiff had put in his small jewelry box. There’s an amused smile on his face. If only the Genii’s little wannabe spy had entered the bar sooner and been more observant during, Lorne was no wannabe. There’s more to the Major than meets the eye, like being a damn good pickpocket and con artist.

Ladon knows exactly what that means, the Lanteans had hedged their bets on the Geniis’ propensity for coups and that the reporting officer wouldn’t give Radim the good stuff. When he returns to his homeworld, and he will return to his homeworld, he will have the reporting officer removed for the indignity of playing into the Lanteans hands so easily… and for keeping something important from him. The man didn’t need to show initiative, all he had to do was show self-promoting stupidity. Either one gets you killed. Or captured.

Steven Caldwell turns his serious yet ingratiating smile to the abducted Genii leader, “Ladon Radim of the Genii, welcome aboard the Daedalus.” He turns to one of his navigators, “Take us out, Bishop.”

Bishop nods and silently goes to work with a smile on his face.

 

 

In the middle of space far off to the right side of the Daedalus, blooms an eruption of streamers of sea foam colored bolts of electricity then a swirl of sea foam colored light whirlpools from its core and spreads out to the lightning’s farthest reach. The unusual light display holds open its swirling mass as the Daedalus begins to move away from the moon’s dark side. The aircraft carrier in space looking Earth vessel speeds into its curving flight path that takes it directly into the very center of the hyperspace window. With the buzzing sound of searing voltage, the Daedalus slips through the extra-spatial hole. The bloom collapses in on itself. Space returns to its normal appearance as though nothing had ever happened.

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Episode Six- The West Pier- Chapter Seven

Posted on August 29, 2014 by stargateatlantisseasonsix

Chapter Seven

Amidst the volume of people, apparently market days are also good party days, Lorne’s team sit at one of the picnic-style, wide-planked, wooden tables in the middle of the dim single room of the village pub. Waiting. Adame walks in and immediately heads for the bar lining the left side of the room. Even as he makes his way around people and between their standing groups, the Lantean team already has covert tabs on him via the flicks of glances they send his way then ignore him.

“One ale please,” Adame asks the bartender as he comes up to the bar top and starts to lean on it.

The round and beefy bartender nods and turns away from him, going back to getting several drink orders ready including a tray of five drinks. Adame’s eyes take note of the tray…and also the bucksome, young, and attractive brunette barmaid right across from him. Her big, brown, doe eyes gaze at him from their corners as she dries a mug with a rag; her demure smile plays coy at him. He turns on his own beguiling smile, aiming it specifically at her.

“And what’s your name,” his sing-song voice lilts.

All sense of demure vanishes from her smile as she aims the flirtation directly back at him as much as he is. Yes, all she needed was the slightest hint and she’d take the rest of the way.

Meanwhile, Lorne starts getting up from his team’s table, “I’m going to hit the head. I’ll be back,” he tells his men.

They nod and he leaves. Winding his way around the din towards the far left corner of the room then disappearing around the backside of a jut of wall that blocks the bathrooms from view. His men continue to talk amongst themselves, mostly quizzing Schiff on his first offworld mission. You couldn’t get much more on-the-job learning experience than in the Pegasus Galaxy. Right now the Milky Way had solved all of its problems, the Pegasus hadn’t.

The bartender finally hands young Va’lar a mug full of frothy golden-hued brew then turns to the barmaid, “Go take these over to the Offworlders.” His bushy full moustache hiding his lips don’t even move when he talks.

He turns his huge back to her again and goes back to filling more drink orders for his plethora of customers. The barmaid obediently picks up the tray while maintaining charming and smiling eye contact with Adame, using her well-honed skill of keeping her eyes on the prize of someone who’s willing to potentially spend money on her and only her. As begins to turn the corner of the bar with the tray, the enterprising playboy reaches out and grasps her free wrist, stopping her progress in a heartbeat, and he can feel her pulse racing as he leans in real close for another quick fleeting chat-up. He practically feels her veins popping as his mouth nuzzles close to her ear so that his breaths and the intimate whisper of his voice applies even more lure against the supple skin of her ear in all the right tantalizing and alluring ways. Big brother doesn’t think he’s a playboy for nothing. Adame often would joke back to his steady political elder that what skills Kelore claimed led Adame to no good, the younger more than made up for themselves in how full Adame’s bed was at the end of every night. His skills added up to much more satisfying things than dear Kelore’s skills did for him. After a few more particularly breathy seconds where his lips ever so slightly caress the soft skin of her earlobe as he whispers to her, she blushes violently with a brilliant grin in perfect portrayal of unused to this sort of attention from men innocence right on cue. He releases her wrist and takes up his mug as the barmaid continues taking the tray over to Lantean’s table. The attractive young Litiran casually turns his lean on the bar top to watch the equally as young and attractive woman serve the offworlders over the brim of his wooden mug as he takes a sip from it. Sweet and potent, he likes the stuff. A bargain for its cheap cost.

She stops at the end of the Lorne’s team’s table. She turns on her beguiling charm once again for the all male team. And right on cue each and every one of the men start grinning like thoroughly charmed and trying to schmooze back like crazy idiots, regardless of their personal attachments back home. Adame chuckles to himself and indulges in another sip of the strong beer before lowering the mug from his face to shed light on his amused smile. He feels comfortable enough to do that; no one would think it wasn’t because of the woman. The waitress and Lorne’s team are all so busy smiling at each other and trying to send each other flirt cues that the barmaid accidentally bumps the first drink she’s trying to hand out on the edge of the table and it spills… then she gets so flummoxed at her clumsiness that she ends up accidentally spilling the whole tray on the floor…and of course every man around her including Lorne’s team dive to the floor to help her clean up her mess, Schiff abandoning his small jewelry box alone on the table top. Chivalry is not dead.

Easily Adame slips away from the bar and into the fray of men trying to help one woman whom every time she starts to lean forward, her bosom threatens to fall out of her peasant blouse’s plunging weak neckline. While eyes are distracted, Va’lar reaches into his tunic pocket and withdraws his purchase from the woodcrafts vendor. Single-handedly, he casually switches his empty black box for Schiff’s filled one under the appearance and slight-of-hand of moving his hand from one box to the next to maintain his ‘iffy’ balance as he squats on the balls of his feet to help the clean up he’s not anywhere near close enough to to actually reach. By the time his switch is complete, the mess is cleaned up for the most part. All that’s left is telling the pretty girl over and over how it wasn’t her fault and everything’s going to be alright; and maybe if she bats her delicate lashes enough, she’ll get one of her inquirers to ask what she’s doing when her work in the pub is done. Adame stands back up as the cleaning huddle begins dispersing. He turns away from the offworlder’s table—and runs right into Major Evan Lorne coming back from the bathroom.

He hadn’t planned on that, hadn’t expected that. The Major is all good natured smiles, but the Litiran’s heart is pounding. Adame staggers back from the collision, flustered beyond words and his face shows it too. Definite concern in every youthful playboy feature. His light blue eyes worried and afraid. He could play it fast and loose with a woman, but not with a soldier from Atlantis. His brain finally registers that the other man’s lips were moving, although his adrenaline-pumped blood roaring in his ears seems to be preventing him from hearing what’s being said. Evan’s forced back a few steps from the collision as well, his smiling still there but also concern. He reaches out to Adame Va’lar. The rushing blood is abruptly silenced.

“I said I’m sorry, are you alright,” Evan asks. His fingertips barely coming into contact with the soft, dark red fabric surrounding the other young man’s biceps.

“Fine,” Adame breathes with a slightly freaked smile, pulling away from the Lantean’s touch ever so slightly. Trying hard to recover himself as well as cover up any hint of what he’d just done. Did he see me? Does he know? The Lanteans are smart, have eyes everywhere. For a moment he rethinks talking to the barmaid at all.

Evan nods, “Good,” then claps the man on the shoulder, “Be careful.”

Va’lar nods.

Both men move past each other towards their goals, Adame goes back to the bar and his drink still waiting there for him to finish, the Lantean Major goes back to his table and his team. Adame takes up his drink again and gulps down a cheek-bulging swig of Dutch courage to steady his nerves even further. Lorne sits back down at his team’s table.

“What was all the fuss about,” he asks. Adame’s ears latch onto his kind voice amid the chaos.

Evan’s second, Reed, answers, the big man always ready, “The waitress spilled our drinks, but she’s coming back with replacements.”

Lorne nods, “Good.”

An Athosian man, blonde and of average height and athletic build, walks in. He makes a quick cursory look at the patrons, spots the Lanteans standing out among the locals and visitors alike almost immediately, and joins them at their table. The mysterious fifth drinker. The maid comes back to the table and delivers the five drinks properly this time. Adame takes another bolstering swig, he didn’t need to ask her to spill the drinks twice. Any more than once and despite the maids of her physicality being commonly known as not all that bright, the clumsiness would have been suspicious.

The Litiran lowers his drink back to the bar top, his hand only shaking gently now, and takes a moment to breath before turning. His eyes scan the room and finds the voluptuous barmaid taking orders from another table near the Lantean team’s. His frightened but returning to his normal disposition eyes slowly slip over to the human men from Atlantis and their Athosian ally. He watches them trade friendly greetings, his gaze quickly changing back to its normal playboy ogling and feigning the guise of eyeing the barmaid in hopes of her returning to the bar for more illicit charming from him. He wished he felt it inside. Adame observes the youngest member of the offworlder’s number clandestinely pass the small black box along to the Athosian who just as covertly sneaks it into a traveling pouch of his that he so happened to have put on the table’s top as soon as he entered. The five men’s conversation continues on as though nothing’s happened.

Shrugging as though to convey that he’s bored of waiting for the pretty girl to return as well as the sentiment that there are plenty more beautiful young women waiting for his attentions elsewhere, and to him there most certainly are, his elder brother would begrudgingly attest to that, Adame Va’lar turns away from his casual survey. He finishes his drink in a few more sips, hand steady once more as well as nerves, then leaves his payment on the bar along with the empty mug. He turns and leaves the public house without eyes looking back at his ditching the barmaid he’d just promised to spend the night with in exchange for dumping the Lantean’s drinks on the floor. Although she hadn’t known he was going to use it as a suitable distraction for him to pilfer something from them, she’d served the purpose he’d intended to use her for. She could warm his bed some other time, he’s been to this planet on many occasions, he’ll see her again. Tonight, her presence would be too much of a reminder of the close call that had been too close to comfort.

The Lanteans and the Athosian go about their happy reunion.

*                      *                      *

Earlier’s intense afternoon light has dulled away with the sun’s passing from high overhead noon to late day. Time is slipping away from them. It always does that in Atlantis, first it’s slow then fast. Hopefully it will go back to slow again sometime soon. Atlantis’ gate room reflects the passing perfectly with the sun’s rays shining directly through the ZPM-shape inspired designed stained glass window behind the Stargate. Frank Lloyd Wright-like geometric shapes in an enchanting array of honey golden ambers, lemony yellows, and sunlight passing through Coca Cola browns are cast across the rust-colored marble flooring bisected by bands of silver. It’s one of the many sights that makes Atlantis a beauty worth saving let alone fighting for…let alone having the honor of serving and living in. So alien, so familiar, so… Atlantis. Mythical.

The elegant naquadah gray, navy blue marble, and Caribbean Ocean blue chevroned Stargate activates and Evan and his team stride out of it. Woolsey stands, already waiting for them, on the embarkation floor at the foot of the Ancient inscribed lit staircase leading down from the Operations Center. The gate shuts down behind the four men.

“Did he get it,” the administrator rushes forward.

Lorne nods with a smile, “Yes, Sir, he did.”

“Do you think he’ll pass it along, Major?”

Evan takes a moment to think about it, Kelore Va’lar’s playboy little brother seemed rather self-satisfied with his talents at seducing women into doing whatever he wanted them to. That may make for great bedroom stories, but it doesn’t necessarily make you a talent at espionage. Evan remembers how flustered the pretty boy looked when he run into Lorne…  “Yes, Sir. I think he will.”

Richard turns to look up at Chuck, waiting on the Operations balcony nearby, “Radio the Daedalus,” he orders.

Campbell nods and goes over to his station to do as ordered.

*                      *                      *

Colonel Steven Caldwell sits on the bridge of his ship with it lit for daytime lighting. The brilliant side lighting thoroughly illuminating the area, glinting off of the matte metal surfaces. The screens dissipating the lights’ glare with their displayed imagery of technical details of the ship and other things they’re scanning around the ship. Stationed in the middle of the middle area on the round jutting part of one of the raised portions of the back area, Caldwell sits confidently in his command chair. Off to one side of the back area, hemmed in barely by the massive acrylic tactical display taking up the middle of that area, his Communications Technician reports.

“Colonel, we’re receiving a message from Atlantis. They say that they’re awaiting transfer of the delivery,” Mark reports.

Steven nods, “Understood.”

His eagle eyes continue to peer out the bridge’s bank of thick windows directly ahead of him. He fights hard the urge to drum his fingertips silently on the metal of his sleek armrest. Aside from the fact that the noise of his short nailtips would click-clack loudly even through the noise of standard bridge operating procedures, there’s also the threat that one of his fingers might slip and accidentally press one of the armrest’s few buttons: ship-wide communications, communications to Engineering, or communications to the onboard Infirmary. Either way, he’d be announcing his anxiousness to a whole lot of his personnel that didn’t need to hear the hairline fracturing occurring in their commanding officer’s veneer of executive patience. Yet another burden of command. Sometimes it’s not the choices you have to make that don’t simply rest on you and you alone, sometimes it’s the waiting. The hardest burden of all.

Lieutenant Stuart passes along his C.O.’s message then breaks the radio link with Atlantis. He turns back to Caldwell, “What do we do now, Sir?”

“Now we wait, Lieutenant,” Steven turns his head to his right hand navigator, “How’s our positioning?”

Lieutenant Colonel Patrick Bishop reports while checking his information for a third time to be on the safe side, “We’re doing good, Colonel, maintaining position.”

Steven nods, “Make sure we stay that way.”

Bishop’s bald head nods as he goes back to his console and Caldwell’s stern sharp eyes return to looking out his bridge’s windows at the dark side of a moon. If only his crew knew how hard it was for him to not show how waiting made him just as edgy as it does them. His mind’s eye continues his view beyond the moon into its crater pockmarked light side. Past that. Past the open star speckled space beyond the moon. To the dayside of an Earth-like world only a handful of seconds nearby.

Wait. All they have to do is wait. His fingers tremble. But he holds it back.

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