Into the Whirlwind - Chapter 6
Title: Into the Whirlwind - Chapter 6 / 11
Words: 6,312 this chapter (~63k total)
Previous parts / Summary: Master Post, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter 5
Chapter Note: In which politicians meet McKay.
=== Chapter 6 -- Universal Constants ===
--- 6.1 ---
(December 11, 2010)
A month into disclosure things were finally starting to settle back into some semblance of normalcy. Normalcy was, of course, a relative term. On Earth, most of the riots had stopped or failed to materialize, although sporadic protests were still occurring across the planet and there was an uneasy tension simmering beneath the surface. Some people were protesting because the government had held the gate a secret for so long, others were protesting because of the danger they felt the government had put them in by either 'idealistic intervention in other peoples' affairs' or 'resurgent Western imperialism'. The initial round of information releases had finished, including press tours of Stargate Command , selected parts of Area 51, and the Apollo. They had also released slightly sanitized mission reports and summaries of the current galactic political situation, along with years of declassified academic information. Everyone in the program knew that they were experiencing the calm before the storm -- a huge amount of information had been released and it would take time for it to be absorbed, but once it was there were inevitably be new and potentially larger problems coming up. There were already distant rumblings about Congressional inquiries.
On Atlantis, there had been virtually no change in operations, as they didn't even have to deal with increased security or crowds of people sitting around outside like the SGC did. Most missions were still on hold, except for those necessary to keep up with their treaty obligations. It was expected that sooner or later attention would shift their way and people from Earth would begin poking around, and already people were drilling for how to handle those situations. The last thing anyone needed was for the press to find some scandal or a loud-mouthed scientist to anger the wrong politician.
There were also other concerns, of course, which was why the recruitment team was holding an emergency meeting. While the department heads had final say in who was chosen to join the expedition, for the most part it was their seconds who handled all the actual grunt work of the process. Civilian recruitment had always been a slightly convoluted dance due to the need to secrecy and the unusual nature of the job, but for the most part it had always gone smoothly beyond the occasional interdepartmental squabbles and IOA national diversity pushes. Now everything had been thrown into chaos.
"We've got how many applications?" Evan asked. He was the military representative on the committee. While as the base XO he handled all of the military personnel decisions, he had a spot on the civilian recruitment team because he could give them an idea of what skills incoming military recruits possessed. He helped them weed out potential troublemakers who wouldn't fit into the city's close civilian-military cooperation or might be unable to deal with living in a war zone, and they gave him advice on what was would be helpful with his own selections.
"Twenty-five thousand," Radek said, looking extremely glum. Biro from medical, Parrish from bioscience, and Corrigan from social science didn't look any happier. Then Radek added, "In last week. Almost ten thousand week before that, and I have it on good authority that there are even more inquiries every day."
"This is going to be a mess," Parrish muttered. "Ten to one says almost all of them are useless."
Corrigan nodded. "New-agers wanting to live in the magical happy land of Atlantis."
"Crazy science geeks who want to explore strange new worlds full of wonderful peaceful life forms."
"Statistically, most of them will be ready to drop dead at any moment," Biro commented. "Which could be helpful for testing out some of the --"
"We get the idea, Marie," Evan quickly said. No one could deny that Biro was an excellent doctor and pathologist, but sometimes she could go off on weird and disturbing tangents. "Radek, how many people are we talking about actually choosing?"
"I have talked with Woolsey, Colonel Sheppard, and Doctor McKay about how much we can expand the population. Taking into account the budget, our available resources, the self-sufficiency goals, and the need to integrate new personnel at a manageable rate, we are thinking perhaps one hundred civilians. More later, if the budget improves. I understand you already have a round of military recruits already inbound."
"Yeah, although it's just a handful." There had been a burst of transfer requests, but as O'Neill had said virtually no expansion was actually authorized, and so they were stuck with the usual trickle of gene carriers. If anything, it made things a lot easier than having to weed out a hundred from a hundred thousand possible choices. "Are they leaving it up to just us?"
"More or less, yes. They will be doing tours of Earth soon, very busy schedules." Radek pushed his glasses up and looked at his computer. "I was thinking, this round we should focus more on practical skills."
Corrigan's eyes narrowed. "Define practical."
"Useful for keeping city running or out in the field, as opposed to theoreticians. We have been doing okay so far, but it would be helpful to have more than a choice between PhDs and marines for everyday work. I am thinking people with bachelors or masters degrees. Engineers in the hard sciences, especially civil or mechanical. Agriculture specialists. More nurses and surgeons. And yes, Corrigan, more translators and anthropologists, but ones who have a great deal of field work and negotiating experience."
There were nods around the table. There had always been a slight disconnect between what specialists they had and what they really needed. The original expedition had many people cross-trained in both physics and engineering, for example, but there had been a number of times since the reconnection with Earth that brilliant theoreticians had proven worse than useless when it came to doing more than just studying Ancient technology at a distance.
"We already did something like that with a couple of the soldiers whose hitches were up, I don't see any reason why we couldn't expand it," Evan said. "We might also start some kind of temporary guest system for visiting scientists who we don't want around all the time."
"We'll still need to find a way to narrow down the applicants to a manageable level," Parrish pointed out.
"I bet we can automate most of it. We've got access to government data sources, and the computing capability to make it workable," Evan said, thinking of their Friend the Computer. Mike was good at numbers and collating disparate sources of information, even if his social skills left a lot to be desired. Of course, they couldn't tell people exactly how that was happening in practice, but one benefit of having a selection committee composed entirely of browncoats was that they knew when not to ask questions. "We create some criteria to weed out ninety-nine percent of them, get some letters and real application forms from the rest, then narrow them down to an interview pool. The gene's an obvious criteria, although we don't want some asshole just because he has it."
"Yes, but baring obvious delusion they will be at least worth talking too," Radek said, making notes on his computer. "Other ideas? Beyond the usual, like military service and not being homicidal maniac."
"We can have every department put together a list of skills need and rank them by priority," Parrish suggested. "That way, if we get a lot we like, we'll have a way to cover the most bases."
"We should keep our current physical fitness standards, but factor in heritable diseases," Biro said. "Youth is also a bonus."
"We need more artists and musicians around here," Corrigan put in. That drew a few odd looks, and he defensively said, "I'm not saying it’s vital, but it should be a factor. Sitting around playing computer games isn't exactly high culture."
"He's got a point," Evan said. After a few moments consideration, he told them, "I'd also say we should ask everyone already here for recommendations, and make that a big factor. Maybe the biggest."
"It'd sound a bit like nepotism, though," Parrish said, not so much objecting as pointing out what people would say.
"Yeah, but as long as they're still qualified, it shouldn't be a huge deal. We've already got several siblings and cousins thanks to gene screening, there's no reason not to add in friends too."
Everyone accepted that line of reasoning, and it didn't take much longer for a list of qualifications to be worked up. It was clear that it was going to be a huge pain in the ass, especially since the flood of requests they had gotten probably wasn't a fraction of what would come in once they actually announced that they were accepting applications for new staff. With any luck quick action on their part would prevent the IOA from trying to take control of the process themselves, which would cause far more trouble for them all. The work wasn't that bad, really, especially compared to what the command staff had to deal with at the same time.
--- 6.2 ---
(January 7, 2010)
Two weeks. Three hundred and thirty-six hours. Twenty-thousand one hundred and sixty seconds. That was how long they'd been stuck on Earth, testifying to Congressional and Parliamentary committees and being interviewed by every media outlet on the entire planet. Two long, horrible weeks when Rodney could have been doing something useful back home, like watching the Ancient paint dry or getting hit with sticks by Ronon. Perhaps the worse bit of the entire situation was the way he could imagine the power meters on the Atlantis and Odyssey ZPMs ticking downwards with each person sent back and forth between home and Earth for stupid frivolities.
Then again, at least it meant he wasn't wasting six weeks stuck aboard ships on said frivolities. That didn't really help his mood much, though, and he made of attempt to hide that fact.
"Why, yes, I did in fact blow up a solar system. It was really rather enjoyable, once I got past the nearly dying part and the completely unprecedented failure," Rodney told the idiot in front of him. "And no, before you ask, I did not file any kind of environmental impact statement. Next question."
"I, ah, think that's enough for me," replied Senator Nitwit (D-Idiot Land), in a stunning display of previously unseen intelligence.
"Well, that was, um. Enlightening,” said Senator Mildly Intelligent, the committee's chairman. "I believe that just leaves Senator Bloomfield before we finish for today. Senator?"
Rodney vaguely remembered from his pre-testimony briefing that the senator was a Republican (which was to say an evil extreme-right fascist, as opposed to a feel-good useless ninny) from... Georgia? No, Arkansas. Maybe. Some kind of swampy hell-hole full of bugs where it never dropped below thirty-five degrees, in any case. He didn't look chubby like a southern politician was supposed to, which just went to show how useful popular culture was. In fact, he looked rather like Rodney's grandfather, which probably was a bad sign given that his grandfather had been an evil bastard who thought dragging children out in boats to fish and get eaten by mosquitoes was fun.
"Good afternoon, Doctor McKay, and let me start by saying that it's an honor to meet you," Blofeld said with a friendly smile.
Rodney wasn't fooled. Friendly-looking politicians almost always wanted to feed you to a sacred tiger or rip your heart out to bless the fields or, worst of all, cut your funding. Nonetheless, he managed to work up a tiny smile and respond, "Thank you, and it's a pleasure to be here."
"I'll also say that I have nothing but the utmost respect for the members of the Atlantis expedition, both civilian and military."
Danger, Will Robinson!
"However, I have to ask, has the expedition really produced any results that have been worth all the effort put into it?"
"I'm sorry, did you miss the last two hours, where I explained in great detail just how much scientific progress we've made?"
"Yes, and it was all very impressive. However, I can't see a single thing here couldn't have been discovered if you'd all been working at Area 51 instead."
"Excuse us for not being able to catch up on five million or so years of Ancient technology overnight, senator."
The senator didn't even acknowledge him. "Meanwhile, back here at home we've got that Asgard core thing to work on, and from what I've heard about the little guys I can't imagine there's much in Atlantis that we won't find in there -"
"Five million years," Rodney muttered. It wasn't like the Asgard datacore was terribly helpful anyways, because the damned interface was bitchy as hell when it came to handing out useful technology. Rodney would bet that Hermiod had been involved in creating it and had programmed the stupid thing to be difficult just to spite Rodney.
"- and given how little tangible, practical developments you've sent home I can't help but think it'd be better for everyone involved if we just brought you all home. Maybe we could leave a few people to keep stripping out anything useful, but continued exploration at this time would be would be just foolhardy at best. We've lost almost a hundred men and women, a quarter of them civilians, put the Earth at risk of invasion, caused mass havoc in another galaxy, and from what I can see the only real gains we've gotten so far are some interesting equations, some ideas on how to marginally improve on our existing advanced technology, and the ability to create some robots that instinctively wish to kill all humans."
Senator Blowhard stopped to take a drink of water and chuckled. "Sorry, I suppose I should fit a question in here at some point. Would you like to comment on anything I've said so far?"
Rodney sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Not just yet, although I'm wondering if there is a point to all this."
"My point, doctor, is that the entire expedition has been a waste of time, money, and lives. Given the danger that's involved with just being there, we never should have sent you all to Pegasus in the first place."
"Oh, I understand now. You're clairvoyant! I really wish you'd told us about the space vampires before letting us head off to another galaxy."
"Excuse me?" A few of the other senators winced at the indignant tone in Blofeld's voice, while others stared at Rodney in open shock. Somehow he got the idea that people didn't talk back to the idiot very often, and so Rodney decided that maybe it was time someone did.
"You implied that we should have known something would go wrong, but since it was a mission to an unexplored galaxy I can only assume that you can somehow see the future and expect us to have been able to."
"The very fact that it was such a shot in the dark is one more example of how fool-hardy the entire mission has been. Quite frankly it never should have been approved."
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. We'd just fended off an entire alien fleet with an Ancient weapons system and now we had an opportunity to potentially explore an entire Ancient city; of course we took the chance. Besides, it's not like it was a huge waste of resources. There were what, a hundred thirty or so of us? Just a bunch of brilliant-but-weird people who thought that one-way missions were exciting and who wouldn't be missed. Other than me, of course, because I would have been a major loss to physics."
"Perhaps that's true," Blowhard spat. "But staying there afterwards was definitely a mistake! We could have pulled out of Pegasus and just left a handful of people to keep the city hidden, or destroy it if necessary, and then come back once we actually had the capability to fight the Wraith and when they might have been sleeping again. Instead we've only gotten more and more -"
Rodney interrupted him by saying, "Well, then, it's a good thing we're not quitters like you are."
Senator Blowhard was looking a bit apoplectic now, with his face, ears, and neck all turning a decidedly unhealthy-looking shade of red. Rodney spared a few seconds to hope that the man would have a stroke and the ensuing chaos would allow him to sneak away, but that burst of optimism was quickly quashed as Rodney remembered that nothing that helpful ever happened to him unless he did it himself. As Rodney could not kill things with his brain - yet - and there was no chance of Sheppard or Ronon blowing something up as a distraction, Rodney knew he would have to continue to suffer.
"Doctor McKay, it would really behoove you to start treating this committee with a little more respect, unless you want to be held in contempt!" Blowhard finally got around to saying.
"What, is that supposed to scare me? Please, you haven't even tied me up and threatened to suck my life out." Not impressed in the least, Rodney crossed his arms and shook his head. "Also, I'd just like to point out that I'm here as a courtesy. I'm not American and I don't even work for you. That's why I have an Order of Canada and not an Order of That Place Below Canada."
"Don't you take that tone with me. We still pay the bills out there and if you think I can't have you fired in a second you've got another thing coming!"
"Give me a second to think of how to respond. No, wait, brain the size of a planet, I don't need time to think. Hmm hmm." Rodney took a deep breath and, more than a little off-key (he was pianist, not some sort of stupid vocalist), began to sing, "O Canada! Our home and native land! True patriot love in all thy sons command...."
The senator continued to screech incoherently and Rodney continued to sing until the committee chairman nearly broke his gavel from pounding on the table and finally shouted, "Will you two to shut up?"
"Sorry, sorry," Rodney said. "I was suddenly overcome by an unexpected bout of patriotism."
"That's enough, doctor," Senator Marginally Intelligent said firmly. He looked over at Blowhard, who couldn't even manage to form a word, which made Rodney worry, just a little, that maybe he really had managed to give him a heart attack or something. Stupid off-world leaders and their health conditions. "While we all, ah, appreciate you being here, doctor, your behavior is definitely unacceptable. Still, since we were about finished anyways, I think it'd be best to adjourn and let everyone cool down."
Rodney could live with that, even if he'd have liked to see them try to keep him in a jail.
--- 6.3 ---
*click*
"-- at a ceremony in Moscow the prime minister announced that the newest Russian starship, the Yuri Gagarin, is now beginning operational trials. This will the second Russian-operated starship, following the Sergey Korolyov which was lost in combat several years ago --"
*click*
"-- petroleum prices dropped steeply after a joint U.S.-Japan project unveiled new pure-electric car engines that will be incorporated into next year's production lines --"
*click*
"-- it actually turns out that Doctor Parrish is still wanted in Colorado, because he disappeared from a jail cell two years ago in the middle of an investigation. No one really denies that his actions were in self-defense, but still, leaving the planet after killing a man is more than a little dubious --"
*click*
"-- really, it's a good thing that the Asgard are gone, because the number of lawsuits for sexual harassment they'd be facing would be astounding --"
*click*
"-- and as you can see, it was only pagan gods that the Goa'uld and Asgard took the forms of. Clearly even they did not try to masquerade as The Lord, for they feared his power, and it was that power that allowed our Christian soldiers to defeat the Ori as well --"
*click*
"-- obvious proof that life beyond this one does exist. It is our sincere hope that one day Doctor Jackson will set aside his study of the past and lead us all to enlightenment --"
*click*
"-- the stock prices across the world continue to fluctuate by unprecedented margins as the markets react to constant new disclosures --"
*click*
"-- interviews Colonel John Sheppard and Doctor Rodney McKay, tonight on a special edition of The Daily Show."
--- 6.4 ---
By the end of the second week, John was completely exhausted, and even Rodney was starting to look under the weather. They still had almost another week before they could leave the planet, by which point John suspected they'd both be on the verge of doing something drastic. Neither of them had any weapons, of course, but that had never stopped them from blowing things up. A few explosives would be about right for livening up the horribly boring reception he and Rodney were currently attending at some stupid fancy Washington hotel. If this had been a halfway decent alien reception, there would at least have been good booze to offset the boredom.
"Have I ever mentioned how much I hate the media?" John asked Rodney as they passed by the depressingly alcohol-free punch bowl. Two more hours and they could escape. Two more hours. He could manage that. It certainly wasn't worse than, say, two hours in a grimy jail cell, or two hours hiding from Wraith in cave, or two hours under a collapsed building.
"You have," Rodney replied, "and I still say that hatred is stupid, given how every reporter on the planet seems to adore you."
"Being adored is dangerous, because they're paying attention to you. Right now I'm a dashing hero with a few small character flaws to make me interesting," John replied. "But believe me, if they found something big enough to make a real splash, they'd tear me apart like sharks scenting blood. One moment I'd be taking heroic risks to save live, the next I'd be a reckless fool. If they found out about you-know-what, who know what they'd do."
"Oh really?" Rodney smirked at him. "So you're worried about your amorous adventures getting us in trouble. How would that be new exactly?"
"Oh, shut up," John growled. He didn't have the sort of problem as often as Rodney liked to claim. Of course, as soon as he thought that, a female State Department official he'd been avoiding all night spotted him from across the room, reminding him that the universe had a perverse sense of humor. "I'm going to run outside for a breath of fresh air. Yell if you're getting kidnapped by the Amish or something."
"Right, whatever," Rodney replied. "Oh, hey, there's Schwartzburg. Time to crush his ego."
Rodney headed off into the crowd and John slipped out a side door, nodding to man in black standing guard there. Outside there was a patio and beyond that a garden area of some sorts. It was an okay enough place, John supposed, and having more greenery around than random potted plants was nice. He made his way down one of the paths leading out towards the street, where he could have a better view of the city. It wasn't a great view, of course, because outside of a few tourist spots Washington wasn't much of a city to look at. Maybe he was slightly biased, though.
He came around a tall shrub and nearly ran into a man standing there. It took John a minute to recognize him. "Evening, Doctor Jackson."
"Colonel Sheppard," Jackson replied. "Hiding?"
"Yep. You?"
"Pretty much. After a month of receptions, you start to get bored." Jackson shrugged. "There hasn't even been a fist fight at this one yet."
"Give Rodney time." John grinned while Jackson chuckled softly.
"I've got no one to blame but myself," he said in a wry tone. "I decided at day one I'd personally make sure we didn't screw up our own public first contact as badly as half the planets we've contacted."
John raised an eyebrow. "How are we doing so far?"
"Well. We haven't nuked each other, which is a good sign. No civil wars, either." Jackson sighed and shook his head. "On the other hand, world peace hasn't broken out, there's about sixteen thousand people dead from rioting, although no one seems to care because they're not from important," Jackson nearly spat the word, " countries, and the economy is either about to go into a major boom or completely self-destruct, depending on who you ask."
"Eh. It's probably better than it could have been. At least there aren't any major threats around right now. Goa'uld are mostly powerless, the Ori seem to be gone, and the Wraith are in another galaxy." That last was a sore point with John after the last few days, although he at least hadn't started yelling at senators, unlike some people he could name.
"An outside threat might have at least been unifying," Jackson pointed out. "As it is, we've got no one to aim guns at but each other." He looked around and then leaned in closer to John. "Don't tell anyone I told you this, but the Pentagon's shitting bricks over a recent development in China. They just deployed what looks like a battery of modified Tollan ion cannons near Beijing."
"Tollan?"
Jackson waved a hand. "Before your time. The important part is that we don't have a clue how they got their hands on the design, let alone build them without us noticing. Needless to say, some people are a tad bit unhappy. They shouldn't be effective against Asgard shields, but who knows."
"Isn't that just wonderful." John shook his head. Better defenses for Earth should have been a good thing, but leave it to the politicians to find some way to make a mess of it. "Anyways, I've talked about this shit enough the last few days to last a lifetime. How's Sam doing? We're finally on the same planet again and I haven't seen her the whole time."
Jackson shrugged. "She's doing pretty well, I guess. I think she misses Atlantis, and you wouldn't believe how pissed she was at how the IOA yanked her home. I think Jack heard the yelling all the way in Washington. On the other hand, she was here for Cassie's graduation, which was nice. She wants to join an SG team sometime, you know."
John grinned. "Hey, if she's interested, we've got plenty of space."
"I'll pass that along," Jackson said with a nod. "How about you guys? Lorne doing okay?"
John's brow furrowed at the question. "What do you mean?"
"How's he doing?" Jackson asked again with a curious look. "You two are still, you know?"
"Oh, come on," John groaned. "Is this the worst-kept secret ever?"
"No, you hide it pretty well, but I've learned to notice that sort of thing after all these years." Jackson shrugged and after a moment added, "Also, you left him an apology note during that entire Replicator thing. It was a bit of a tell."
"Right, right." John had almost forgotten that after all the time since that night. Evan had been out with Jackson on some diplomatic mission involving giant lizards, and John had left a note in the archaeologist's office. He'd figured the man would pass it on, if certain rumors were true. "He's doing great. A lieutenant colonel now, in case you hadn't heard."
"I had. Pass on my congratulations."
John waited a few seconds, then decided that if he had a chance, he might as well ask a few questions of his own. "Say. If we're talking about secrets, would you mind telling me if it's true that General O'Neill and --"
John didn't get to finish his question. Two quick gunshots rang out from the direction of the road, and instinctively John shoved Jackson to the ground and spun around. Standing maybe a dozen feet away at the edge of the garden was a ratty-looking man with dirty clothes and a long, unkempt beard. He was waving what looked like a .38 and shouting about Satan and demons and other crap. John instinctively reached for his sidearm, but of course found nothing there and so instead he rushed towards the man. His eyes widened comically just before John's fist caught his chin, followed by a knee to the stomach. The gun fell from his hands and John kicked it into the underbrush, before sucker-punching the man again. He fell over and John gave him another swift kick for good measure.
"Can you believe this crap?" John called back to Jackson, wondering how the hell some kind of crazed maniac had gotten through the security cordon. There was no reply, and when John turned around he saw Jackson lying on the ground with two neat holes in his side.
"Oh fuck," John said, sprinting back and stripping off his uniform jacket.
"Fuck is right," Jackson groaned. "Jack is going to kill me."
"Kill you?" John asked, glad Jackson was coherent. He pressed his jacket to the wounds and winced in sympathy as Jackson hissed. "He's going to string me up with my own guts."
"Sheppard?!" John looked up to see Rodney running his away, along with a dozen or so security guards. John waved them over to where the fallen attacker was laying while Rodney knelt down next to him.
"Rodney, call the SGC emergency line, tell them we need an immediate beam-out. I'm not waiting for an ambulance."
"Right, right." Rodney fumbled out his cell and started punching in the number.
"No, he actually likes you," Jackson mumbled. "Quite a bit, really."
"He won't if I let his scientist bleed out." Some tiny part of John's mind was getting annoyed that his best class-A uniform was being ruined and wondering why he even bothered having the damn thing when he never wore it more than a couple times a year. The rest of him was thinking that Jackson was loosing a hell of a lot of blood. "Trust me; nothing annoys a guy more than that."
"He likes how you don't leave your men behind. Bit of a fetish with him." Jackson's eyes suddenly focused on his. "Have I ever mentioned that you seem strangely familiar?"
"You better not be saying I'm --" John was going to say, 'a clone', because really that would just suck, but the world dissolved into light and then they were on a cold metal deck. The world dissolved again, and the three of them were surrounded by the concrete walls of some nondescript arrival room in the SGC. Doctors and nurses swarmed around them and shoved John out of the way, and before he knew what was happening Jackson had been loaded up on gurney. He and Rodney tried to follow but a nurse blocked their way. John was left there holding his blood-soaked jacket while Rodney stared at him.
"Well, that was..." Rodney stopped and thought about what he had been going to say. "Okay, maybe it wasn't different. I think I'm getting way too used to people shooting at you, because I really should be freaking out more."
John tossed his jacket to the floor and started to pace around the room. "I'm an idiot. I assumed we'd be safe here, but obviously I'd forgotten just how fucked up this planet is. Stupid. We've got to call everyone who's here, make sure they're all right."
"You're bleeding," Rodney replied, eyes wide. John looked down at his hands, which admittedly were pretty bloody.
"No, none if it's mine, I'm -- huh." John realized that there was blood running down his left arm, and at about that moment it started to hurt like a bitch. "Okay, you may have a point."
Rodney stomped over to the door and grabbed a passing airman. "You! Go get whatever sorry excuses for doctors you have around here before this moron stoically bleeds to death."
The man took one look at John and took off down the corridor. A few minutes after that John was on a bed in the base infirmary with a doctor stitching up the wound on his arm. It was a long gash straight across his bicep, thankfully not too deep. He'd been hurt a lot worse than that countless times before, not that it stopped Rodney from ranting about his ability to attract bullets for a full fifteen minutes. John finally managed to distract him with calling every expedition member currently on-world. Despite how few of them were around, it took long enough that by the time he was done Rodney was tired enough that he nodded off on the next bed over. John would have liked to do the same, but even with the painkillers the doctor had given him he was still too hyped up with adrenaline to sleep.
An eternity later O'Neill showed up, dropping tiredly into a chair across from John. He looked like he hadn't slept in days and his uniform was rumpled. John started to get up, but O'Neill waved a hand at him. John sat there and waited for the general to say something.
"Daniel's in surgery," O'Neill said after a few minutes. "They should be finished in a few minutes. He'll be fine."
"Sir, I want to apologize for not --"
"Oh, shut up, Sheppard," O'Neill snapped. "You did exactly what you should have."
Rodney snuffled in his sleep and they both looked over at him. More quietly, John said, "I'm still sorry. That he's hurt and that you have to..." John waved vaguely toward the operating room and then Rodney, trying to convey that he knew what O'Neill was going through, "you know. Sit out here waiting."
"Thanks." O'Neill sighed and slouched into his chair. "We've been expecting this for a while, really. Half the nut jobs on the planet think he's the second coming, the other half think he's the antichrist. It's a mess."
"Your security sucks, too," John said without thinking. He winced as he realized what it must have sounded like, but rather than get angry O'Neill quietly laughed.
"That's what I keep telling him. It's hard to keep so many public events secure, but he insists on traveling all over the damned planet. I can't exactly say no, either, with him being the SGC's civilian face. People trust him more than the military; we need that now more than ever."
"I get that." John glanced over at Rodney again. "Sir, I hope you don't mind me saying this, but this has really put me off this entire PR tour thing. I was kinda hoping we'd get back to home sometime soon."
O'Neill grimaced but still nodded in acquiescence. "All right, no harm in moving up your departure a little. It'll have to wait until after the White House dinner tomorrow, though. There's going to be a lot of important people there, including most of the Stargate nations' leaders. I want you there putting that charm to good use. Besides, after today, I'll feel a lot better with McKay somewhere he can't yell at people."
"I'll do my best," John said with his most charming smile.
O'Neill snorted. "Maybe you can use your newest injury to get a little sympathy. You might need it some day."
John nodded. "Of course, sir. Thank you."
O'Neill studied him for a few minutes, then said, "Also, you meant that you were hoping to get back to Atlantis soon. Not home."
John froze. "Sir?"
"I've noticed you guys all have a tendency to refer to Atlantis as home," O'Neill said casually. Far too casually, John thought, because he knew that even O'Neill wasn't as laid back as he was trying to appear at the moment. John knew the trick well; he pulled it off himself all the time. "You need to stop it. Earth is your home, not Atlantis. At least not in public where the wrong sort of people might hear you."
"I'll keep that in mind, sir," John said, "and I'll pass it along."
"See that you do. There's already people who question the utility of keeping more than a token force in the city, and that attitude is going to get worse before it gets better. You guys need to be above reproach. I know that you'd never do anything to hurt Earth, whatever your ultimate loyalties," John's mouth dropped open at that statement a million panicked denials wanting to spill out at once, "but not everyone will be that magnanimous."
John didn't know what to say, but he didn't get a chance to respond in any case. Doctor Lam appeared in the infirmary's door and called, "General, Doctor Jackson's awake and asking for you."
"I'll be there in a second." O'Neill got to his feet. "Just keep out of the way and let Woolsey and me handle the politics. All you need to worry about is doing your job." He walked to the door, but paused at the threshold to look back. "Oh, and for God's sake, make sure you and you-know-who are careful."
With that, he left John to sit there in thought.
=====
End Note: For those wondering about Parrish, read this.
(Next Chapter)
Words: 6,312 this chapter (~63k total)
Previous parts / Summary: Master Post, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter 5
Chapter Note: In which politicians meet McKay.
=== Chapter 6 -- Universal Constants ===
--- 6.1 ---
(December 11, 2010)
A month into disclosure things were finally starting to settle back into some semblance of normalcy. Normalcy was, of course, a relative term. On Earth, most of the riots had stopped or failed to materialize, although sporadic protests were still occurring across the planet and there was an uneasy tension simmering beneath the surface. Some people were protesting because the government had held the gate a secret for so long, others were protesting because of the danger they felt the government had put them in by either 'idealistic intervention in other peoples' affairs' or 'resurgent Western imperialism'. The initial round of information releases had finished, including press tours of Stargate Command , selected parts of Area 51, and the Apollo. They had also released slightly sanitized mission reports and summaries of the current galactic political situation, along with years of declassified academic information. Everyone in the program knew that they were experiencing the calm before the storm -- a huge amount of information had been released and it would take time for it to be absorbed, but once it was there were inevitably be new and potentially larger problems coming up. There were already distant rumblings about Congressional inquiries.
On Atlantis, there had been virtually no change in operations, as they didn't even have to deal with increased security or crowds of people sitting around outside like the SGC did. Most missions were still on hold, except for those necessary to keep up with their treaty obligations. It was expected that sooner or later attention would shift their way and people from Earth would begin poking around, and already people were drilling for how to handle those situations. The last thing anyone needed was for the press to find some scandal or a loud-mouthed scientist to anger the wrong politician.
There were also other concerns, of course, which was why the recruitment team was holding an emergency meeting. While the department heads had final say in who was chosen to join the expedition, for the most part it was their seconds who handled all the actual grunt work of the process. Civilian recruitment had always been a slightly convoluted dance due to the need to secrecy and the unusual nature of the job, but for the most part it had always gone smoothly beyond the occasional interdepartmental squabbles and IOA national diversity pushes. Now everything had been thrown into chaos.
"We've got how many applications?" Evan asked. He was the military representative on the committee. While as the base XO he handled all of the military personnel decisions, he had a spot on the civilian recruitment team because he could give them an idea of what skills incoming military recruits possessed. He helped them weed out potential troublemakers who wouldn't fit into the city's close civilian-military cooperation or might be unable to deal with living in a war zone, and they gave him advice on what was would be helpful with his own selections.
"Twenty-five thousand," Radek said, looking extremely glum. Biro from medical, Parrish from bioscience, and Corrigan from social science didn't look any happier. Then Radek added, "In last week. Almost ten thousand week before that, and I have it on good authority that there are even more inquiries every day."
"This is going to be a mess," Parrish muttered. "Ten to one says almost all of them are useless."
Corrigan nodded. "New-agers wanting to live in the magical happy land of Atlantis."
"Crazy science geeks who want to explore strange new worlds full of wonderful peaceful life forms."
"Statistically, most of them will be ready to drop dead at any moment," Biro commented. "Which could be helpful for testing out some of the --"
"We get the idea, Marie," Evan quickly said. No one could deny that Biro was an excellent doctor and pathologist, but sometimes she could go off on weird and disturbing tangents. "Radek, how many people are we talking about actually choosing?"
"I have talked with Woolsey, Colonel Sheppard, and Doctor McKay about how much we can expand the population. Taking into account the budget, our available resources, the self-sufficiency goals, and the need to integrate new personnel at a manageable rate, we are thinking perhaps one hundred civilians. More later, if the budget improves. I understand you already have a round of military recruits already inbound."
"Yeah, although it's just a handful." There had been a burst of transfer requests, but as O'Neill had said virtually no expansion was actually authorized, and so they were stuck with the usual trickle of gene carriers. If anything, it made things a lot easier than having to weed out a hundred from a hundred thousand possible choices. "Are they leaving it up to just us?"
"More or less, yes. They will be doing tours of Earth soon, very busy schedules." Radek pushed his glasses up and looked at his computer. "I was thinking, this round we should focus more on practical skills."
Corrigan's eyes narrowed. "Define practical."
"Useful for keeping city running or out in the field, as opposed to theoreticians. We have been doing okay so far, but it would be helpful to have more than a choice between PhDs and marines for everyday work. I am thinking people with bachelors or masters degrees. Engineers in the hard sciences, especially civil or mechanical. Agriculture specialists. More nurses and surgeons. And yes, Corrigan, more translators and anthropologists, but ones who have a great deal of field work and negotiating experience."
There were nods around the table. There had always been a slight disconnect between what specialists they had and what they really needed. The original expedition had many people cross-trained in both physics and engineering, for example, but there had been a number of times since the reconnection with Earth that brilliant theoreticians had proven worse than useless when it came to doing more than just studying Ancient technology at a distance.
"We already did something like that with a couple of the soldiers whose hitches were up, I don't see any reason why we couldn't expand it," Evan said. "We might also start some kind of temporary guest system for visiting scientists who we don't want around all the time."
"We'll still need to find a way to narrow down the applicants to a manageable level," Parrish pointed out.
"I bet we can automate most of it. We've got access to government data sources, and the computing capability to make it workable," Evan said, thinking of their Friend the Computer. Mike was good at numbers and collating disparate sources of information, even if his social skills left a lot to be desired. Of course, they couldn't tell people exactly how that was happening in practice, but one benefit of having a selection committee composed entirely of browncoats was that they knew when not to ask questions. "We create some criteria to weed out ninety-nine percent of them, get some letters and real application forms from the rest, then narrow them down to an interview pool. The gene's an obvious criteria, although we don't want some asshole just because he has it."
"Yes, but baring obvious delusion they will be at least worth talking too," Radek said, making notes on his computer. "Other ideas? Beyond the usual, like military service and not being homicidal maniac."
"We can have every department put together a list of skills need and rank them by priority," Parrish suggested. "That way, if we get a lot we like, we'll have a way to cover the most bases."
"We should keep our current physical fitness standards, but factor in heritable diseases," Biro said. "Youth is also a bonus."
"We need more artists and musicians around here," Corrigan put in. That drew a few odd looks, and he defensively said, "I'm not saying it’s vital, but it should be a factor. Sitting around playing computer games isn't exactly high culture."
"He's got a point," Evan said. After a few moments consideration, he told them, "I'd also say we should ask everyone already here for recommendations, and make that a big factor. Maybe the biggest."
"It'd sound a bit like nepotism, though," Parrish said, not so much objecting as pointing out what people would say.
"Yeah, but as long as they're still qualified, it shouldn't be a huge deal. We've already got several siblings and cousins thanks to gene screening, there's no reason not to add in friends too."
Everyone accepted that line of reasoning, and it didn't take much longer for a list of qualifications to be worked up. It was clear that it was going to be a huge pain in the ass, especially since the flood of requests they had gotten probably wasn't a fraction of what would come in once they actually announced that they were accepting applications for new staff. With any luck quick action on their part would prevent the IOA from trying to take control of the process themselves, which would cause far more trouble for them all. The work wasn't that bad, really, especially compared to what the command staff had to deal with at the same time.
--- 6.2 ---
(January 7, 2010)
Two weeks. Three hundred and thirty-six hours. Twenty-thousand one hundred and sixty seconds. That was how long they'd been stuck on Earth, testifying to Congressional and Parliamentary committees and being interviewed by every media outlet on the entire planet. Two long, horrible weeks when Rodney could have been doing something useful back home, like watching the Ancient paint dry or getting hit with sticks by Ronon. Perhaps the worse bit of the entire situation was the way he could imagine the power meters on the Atlantis and Odyssey ZPMs ticking downwards with each person sent back and forth between home and Earth for stupid frivolities.
Then again, at least it meant he wasn't wasting six weeks stuck aboard ships on said frivolities. That didn't really help his mood much, though, and he made of attempt to hide that fact.
"Why, yes, I did in fact blow up a solar system. It was really rather enjoyable, once I got past the nearly dying part and the completely unprecedented failure," Rodney told the idiot in front of him. "And no, before you ask, I did not file any kind of environmental impact statement. Next question."
"I, ah, think that's enough for me," replied Senator Nitwit (D-Idiot Land), in a stunning display of previously unseen intelligence.
"Well, that was, um. Enlightening,” said Senator Mildly Intelligent, the committee's chairman. "I believe that just leaves Senator Bloomfield before we finish for today. Senator?"
Rodney vaguely remembered from his pre-testimony briefing that the senator was a Republican (which was to say an evil extreme-right fascist, as opposed to a feel-good useless ninny) from... Georgia? No, Arkansas. Maybe. Some kind of swampy hell-hole full of bugs where it never dropped below thirty-five degrees, in any case. He didn't look chubby like a southern politician was supposed to, which just went to show how useful popular culture was. In fact, he looked rather like Rodney's grandfather, which probably was a bad sign given that his grandfather had been an evil bastard who thought dragging children out in boats to fish and get eaten by mosquitoes was fun.
"Good afternoon, Doctor McKay, and let me start by saying that it's an honor to meet you," Blofeld said with a friendly smile.
Rodney wasn't fooled. Friendly-looking politicians almost always wanted to feed you to a sacred tiger or rip your heart out to bless the fields or, worst of all, cut your funding. Nonetheless, he managed to work up a tiny smile and respond, "Thank you, and it's a pleasure to be here."
"I'll also say that I have nothing but the utmost respect for the members of the Atlantis expedition, both civilian and military."
Danger, Will Robinson!
"However, I have to ask, has the expedition really produced any results that have been worth all the effort put into it?"
"I'm sorry, did you miss the last two hours, where I explained in great detail just how much scientific progress we've made?"
"Yes, and it was all very impressive. However, I can't see a single thing here couldn't have been discovered if you'd all been working at Area 51 instead."
"Excuse us for not being able to catch up on five million or so years of Ancient technology overnight, senator."
The senator didn't even acknowledge him. "Meanwhile, back here at home we've got that Asgard core thing to work on, and from what I've heard about the little guys I can't imagine there's much in Atlantis that we won't find in there -"
"Five million years," Rodney muttered. It wasn't like the Asgard datacore was terribly helpful anyways, because the damned interface was bitchy as hell when it came to handing out useful technology. Rodney would bet that Hermiod had been involved in creating it and had programmed the stupid thing to be difficult just to spite Rodney.
"- and given how little tangible, practical developments you've sent home I can't help but think it'd be better for everyone involved if we just brought you all home. Maybe we could leave a few people to keep stripping out anything useful, but continued exploration at this time would be would be just foolhardy at best. We've lost almost a hundred men and women, a quarter of them civilians, put the Earth at risk of invasion, caused mass havoc in another galaxy, and from what I can see the only real gains we've gotten so far are some interesting equations, some ideas on how to marginally improve on our existing advanced technology, and the ability to create some robots that instinctively wish to kill all humans."
Senator Blowhard stopped to take a drink of water and chuckled. "Sorry, I suppose I should fit a question in here at some point. Would you like to comment on anything I've said so far?"
Rodney sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Not just yet, although I'm wondering if there is a point to all this."
"My point, doctor, is that the entire expedition has been a waste of time, money, and lives. Given the danger that's involved with just being there, we never should have sent you all to Pegasus in the first place."
"Oh, I understand now. You're clairvoyant! I really wish you'd told us about the space vampires before letting us head off to another galaxy."
"Excuse me?" A few of the other senators winced at the indignant tone in Blofeld's voice, while others stared at Rodney in open shock. Somehow he got the idea that people didn't talk back to the idiot very often, and so Rodney decided that maybe it was time someone did.
"You implied that we should have known something would go wrong, but since it was a mission to an unexplored galaxy I can only assume that you can somehow see the future and expect us to have been able to."
"The very fact that it was such a shot in the dark is one more example of how fool-hardy the entire mission has been. Quite frankly it never should have been approved."
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. We'd just fended off an entire alien fleet with an Ancient weapons system and now we had an opportunity to potentially explore an entire Ancient city; of course we took the chance. Besides, it's not like it was a huge waste of resources. There were what, a hundred thirty or so of us? Just a bunch of brilliant-but-weird people who thought that one-way missions were exciting and who wouldn't be missed. Other than me, of course, because I would have been a major loss to physics."
"Perhaps that's true," Blowhard spat. "But staying there afterwards was definitely a mistake! We could have pulled out of Pegasus and just left a handful of people to keep the city hidden, or destroy it if necessary, and then come back once we actually had the capability to fight the Wraith and when they might have been sleeping again. Instead we've only gotten more and more -"
Rodney interrupted him by saying, "Well, then, it's a good thing we're not quitters like you are."
Senator Blowhard was looking a bit apoplectic now, with his face, ears, and neck all turning a decidedly unhealthy-looking shade of red. Rodney spared a few seconds to hope that the man would have a stroke and the ensuing chaos would allow him to sneak away, but that burst of optimism was quickly quashed as Rodney remembered that nothing that helpful ever happened to him unless he did it himself. As Rodney could not kill things with his brain - yet - and there was no chance of Sheppard or Ronon blowing something up as a distraction, Rodney knew he would have to continue to suffer.
"Doctor McKay, it would really behoove you to start treating this committee with a little more respect, unless you want to be held in contempt!" Blowhard finally got around to saying.
"What, is that supposed to scare me? Please, you haven't even tied me up and threatened to suck my life out." Not impressed in the least, Rodney crossed his arms and shook his head. "Also, I'd just like to point out that I'm here as a courtesy. I'm not American and I don't even work for you. That's why I have an Order of Canada and not an Order of That Place Below Canada."
"Don't you take that tone with me. We still pay the bills out there and if you think I can't have you fired in a second you've got another thing coming!"
"Give me a second to think of how to respond. No, wait, brain the size of a planet, I don't need time to think. Hmm hmm." Rodney took a deep breath and, more than a little off-key (he was pianist, not some sort of stupid vocalist), began to sing, "O Canada! Our home and native land! True patriot love in all thy sons command...."
The senator continued to screech incoherently and Rodney continued to sing until the committee chairman nearly broke his gavel from pounding on the table and finally shouted, "Will you two to shut up?"
"Sorry, sorry," Rodney said. "I was suddenly overcome by an unexpected bout of patriotism."
"That's enough, doctor," Senator Marginally Intelligent said firmly. He looked over at Blowhard, who couldn't even manage to form a word, which made Rodney worry, just a little, that maybe he really had managed to give him a heart attack or something. Stupid off-world leaders and their health conditions. "While we all, ah, appreciate you being here, doctor, your behavior is definitely unacceptable. Still, since we were about finished anyways, I think it'd be best to adjourn and let everyone cool down."
Rodney could live with that, even if he'd have liked to see them try to keep him in a jail.
--- 6.3 ---
*click*
"-- at a ceremony in Moscow the prime minister announced that the newest Russian starship, the Yuri Gagarin, is now beginning operational trials. This will the second Russian-operated starship, following the Sergey Korolyov which was lost in combat several years ago --"
*click*
"-- petroleum prices dropped steeply after a joint U.S.-Japan project unveiled new pure-electric car engines that will be incorporated into next year's production lines --"
*click*
"-- it actually turns out that Doctor Parrish is still wanted in Colorado, because he disappeared from a jail cell two years ago in the middle of an investigation. No one really denies that his actions were in self-defense, but still, leaving the planet after killing a man is more than a little dubious --"
*click*
"-- really, it's a good thing that the Asgard are gone, because the number of lawsuits for sexual harassment they'd be facing would be astounding --"
*click*
"-- and as you can see, it was only pagan gods that the Goa'uld and Asgard took the forms of. Clearly even they did not try to masquerade as The Lord, for they feared his power, and it was that power that allowed our Christian soldiers to defeat the Ori as well --"
*click*
"-- obvious proof that life beyond this one does exist. It is our sincere hope that one day Doctor Jackson will set aside his study of the past and lead us all to enlightenment --"
*click*
"-- the stock prices across the world continue to fluctuate by unprecedented margins as the markets react to constant new disclosures --"
*click*
"-- interviews Colonel John Sheppard and Doctor Rodney McKay, tonight on a special edition of The Daily Show."
--- 6.4 ---
By the end of the second week, John was completely exhausted, and even Rodney was starting to look under the weather. They still had almost another week before they could leave the planet, by which point John suspected they'd both be on the verge of doing something drastic. Neither of them had any weapons, of course, but that had never stopped them from blowing things up. A few explosives would be about right for livening up the horribly boring reception he and Rodney were currently attending at some stupid fancy Washington hotel. If this had been a halfway decent alien reception, there would at least have been good booze to offset the boredom.
"Have I ever mentioned how much I hate the media?" John asked Rodney as they passed by the depressingly alcohol-free punch bowl. Two more hours and they could escape. Two more hours. He could manage that. It certainly wasn't worse than, say, two hours in a grimy jail cell, or two hours hiding from Wraith in cave, or two hours under a collapsed building.
"You have," Rodney replied, "and I still say that hatred is stupid, given how every reporter on the planet seems to adore you."
"Being adored is dangerous, because they're paying attention to you. Right now I'm a dashing hero with a few small character flaws to make me interesting," John replied. "But believe me, if they found something big enough to make a real splash, they'd tear me apart like sharks scenting blood. One moment I'd be taking heroic risks to save live, the next I'd be a reckless fool. If they found out about you-know-what, who know what they'd do."
"Oh really?" Rodney smirked at him. "So you're worried about your amorous adventures getting us in trouble. How would that be new exactly?"
"Oh, shut up," John growled. He didn't have the sort of problem as often as Rodney liked to claim. Of course, as soon as he thought that, a female State Department official he'd been avoiding all night spotted him from across the room, reminding him that the universe had a perverse sense of humor. "I'm going to run outside for a breath of fresh air. Yell if you're getting kidnapped by the Amish or something."
"Right, whatever," Rodney replied. "Oh, hey, there's Schwartzburg. Time to crush his ego."
Rodney headed off into the crowd and John slipped out a side door, nodding to man in black standing guard there. Outside there was a patio and beyond that a garden area of some sorts. It was an okay enough place, John supposed, and having more greenery around than random potted plants was nice. He made his way down one of the paths leading out towards the street, where he could have a better view of the city. It wasn't a great view, of course, because outside of a few tourist spots Washington wasn't much of a city to look at. Maybe he was slightly biased, though.
He came around a tall shrub and nearly ran into a man standing there. It took John a minute to recognize him. "Evening, Doctor Jackson."
"Colonel Sheppard," Jackson replied. "Hiding?"
"Yep. You?"
"Pretty much. After a month of receptions, you start to get bored." Jackson shrugged. "There hasn't even been a fist fight at this one yet."
"Give Rodney time." John grinned while Jackson chuckled softly.
"I've got no one to blame but myself," he said in a wry tone. "I decided at day one I'd personally make sure we didn't screw up our own public first contact as badly as half the planets we've contacted."
John raised an eyebrow. "How are we doing so far?"
"Well. We haven't nuked each other, which is a good sign. No civil wars, either." Jackson sighed and shook his head. "On the other hand, world peace hasn't broken out, there's about sixteen thousand people dead from rioting, although no one seems to care because they're not from important," Jackson nearly spat the word, " countries, and the economy is either about to go into a major boom or completely self-destruct, depending on who you ask."
"Eh. It's probably better than it could have been. At least there aren't any major threats around right now. Goa'uld are mostly powerless, the Ori seem to be gone, and the Wraith are in another galaxy." That last was a sore point with John after the last few days, although he at least hadn't started yelling at senators, unlike some people he could name.
"An outside threat might have at least been unifying," Jackson pointed out. "As it is, we've got no one to aim guns at but each other." He looked around and then leaned in closer to John. "Don't tell anyone I told you this, but the Pentagon's shitting bricks over a recent development in China. They just deployed what looks like a battery of modified Tollan ion cannons near Beijing."
"Tollan?"
Jackson waved a hand. "Before your time. The important part is that we don't have a clue how they got their hands on the design, let alone build them without us noticing. Needless to say, some people are a tad bit unhappy. They shouldn't be effective against Asgard shields, but who knows."
"Isn't that just wonderful." John shook his head. Better defenses for Earth should have been a good thing, but leave it to the politicians to find some way to make a mess of it. "Anyways, I've talked about this shit enough the last few days to last a lifetime. How's Sam doing? We're finally on the same planet again and I haven't seen her the whole time."
Jackson shrugged. "She's doing pretty well, I guess. I think she misses Atlantis, and you wouldn't believe how pissed she was at how the IOA yanked her home. I think Jack heard the yelling all the way in Washington. On the other hand, she was here for Cassie's graduation, which was nice. She wants to join an SG team sometime, you know."
John grinned. "Hey, if she's interested, we've got plenty of space."
"I'll pass that along," Jackson said with a nod. "How about you guys? Lorne doing okay?"
John's brow furrowed at the question. "What do you mean?"
"How's he doing?" Jackson asked again with a curious look. "You two are still, you know?"
"Oh, come on," John groaned. "Is this the worst-kept secret ever?"
"No, you hide it pretty well, but I've learned to notice that sort of thing after all these years." Jackson shrugged and after a moment added, "Also, you left him an apology note during that entire Replicator thing. It was a bit of a tell."
"Right, right." John had almost forgotten that after all the time since that night. Evan had been out with Jackson on some diplomatic mission involving giant lizards, and John had left a note in the archaeologist's office. He'd figured the man would pass it on, if certain rumors were true. "He's doing great. A lieutenant colonel now, in case you hadn't heard."
"I had. Pass on my congratulations."
John waited a few seconds, then decided that if he had a chance, he might as well ask a few questions of his own. "Say. If we're talking about secrets, would you mind telling me if it's true that General O'Neill and --"
John didn't get to finish his question. Two quick gunshots rang out from the direction of the road, and instinctively John shoved Jackson to the ground and spun around. Standing maybe a dozen feet away at the edge of the garden was a ratty-looking man with dirty clothes and a long, unkempt beard. He was waving what looked like a .38 and shouting about Satan and demons and other crap. John instinctively reached for his sidearm, but of course found nothing there and so instead he rushed towards the man. His eyes widened comically just before John's fist caught his chin, followed by a knee to the stomach. The gun fell from his hands and John kicked it into the underbrush, before sucker-punching the man again. He fell over and John gave him another swift kick for good measure.
"Can you believe this crap?" John called back to Jackson, wondering how the hell some kind of crazed maniac had gotten through the security cordon. There was no reply, and when John turned around he saw Jackson lying on the ground with two neat holes in his side.
"Oh fuck," John said, sprinting back and stripping off his uniform jacket.
"Fuck is right," Jackson groaned. "Jack is going to kill me."
"Kill you?" John asked, glad Jackson was coherent. He pressed his jacket to the wounds and winced in sympathy as Jackson hissed. "He's going to string me up with my own guts."
"Sheppard?!" John looked up to see Rodney running his away, along with a dozen or so security guards. John waved them over to where the fallen attacker was laying while Rodney knelt down next to him.
"Rodney, call the SGC emergency line, tell them we need an immediate beam-out. I'm not waiting for an ambulance."
"Right, right." Rodney fumbled out his cell and started punching in the number.
"No, he actually likes you," Jackson mumbled. "Quite a bit, really."
"He won't if I let his scientist bleed out." Some tiny part of John's mind was getting annoyed that his best class-A uniform was being ruined and wondering why he even bothered having the damn thing when he never wore it more than a couple times a year. The rest of him was thinking that Jackson was loosing a hell of a lot of blood. "Trust me; nothing annoys a guy more than that."
"He likes how you don't leave your men behind. Bit of a fetish with him." Jackson's eyes suddenly focused on his. "Have I ever mentioned that you seem strangely familiar?"
"You better not be saying I'm --" John was going to say, 'a clone', because really that would just suck, but the world dissolved into light and then they were on a cold metal deck. The world dissolved again, and the three of them were surrounded by the concrete walls of some nondescript arrival room in the SGC. Doctors and nurses swarmed around them and shoved John out of the way, and before he knew what was happening Jackson had been loaded up on gurney. He and Rodney tried to follow but a nurse blocked their way. John was left there holding his blood-soaked jacket while Rodney stared at him.
"Well, that was..." Rodney stopped and thought about what he had been going to say. "Okay, maybe it wasn't different. I think I'm getting way too used to people shooting at you, because I really should be freaking out more."
John tossed his jacket to the floor and started to pace around the room. "I'm an idiot. I assumed we'd be safe here, but obviously I'd forgotten just how fucked up this planet is. Stupid. We've got to call everyone who's here, make sure they're all right."
"You're bleeding," Rodney replied, eyes wide. John looked down at his hands, which admittedly were pretty bloody.
"No, none if it's mine, I'm -- huh." John realized that there was blood running down his left arm, and at about that moment it started to hurt like a bitch. "Okay, you may have a point."
Rodney stomped over to the door and grabbed a passing airman. "You! Go get whatever sorry excuses for doctors you have around here before this moron stoically bleeds to death."
The man took one look at John and took off down the corridor. A few minutes after that John was on a bed in the base infirmary with a doctor stitching up the wound on his arm. It was a long gash straight across his bicep, thankfully not too deep. He'd been hurt a lot worse than that countless times before, not that it stopped Rodney from ranting about his ability to attract bullets for a full fifteen minutes. John finally managed to distract him with calling every expedition member currently on-world. Despite how few of them were around, it took long enough that by the time he was done Rodney was tired enough that he nodded off on the next bed over. John would have liked to do the same, but even with the painkillers the doctor had given him he was still too hyped up with adrenaline to sleep.
An eternity later O'Neill showed up, dropping tiredly into a chair across from John. He looked like he hadn't slept in days and his uniform was rumpled. John started to get up, but O'Neill waved a hand at him. John sat there and waited for the general to say something.
"Daniel's in surgery," O'Neill said after a few minutes. "They should be finished in a few minutes. He'll be fine."
"Sir, I want to apologize for not --"
"Oh, shut up, Sheppard," O'Neill snapped. "You did exactly what you should have."
Rodney snuffled in his sleep and they both looked over at him. More quietly, John said, "I'm still sorry. That he's hurt and that you have to..." John waved vaguely toward the operating room and then Rodney, trying to convey that he knew what O'Neill was going through, "you know. Sit out here waiting."
"Thanks." O'Neill sighed and slouched into his chair. "We've been expecting this for a while, really. Half the nut jobs on the planet think he's the second coming, the other half think he's the antichrist. It's a mess."
"Your security sucks, too," John said without thinking. He winced as he realized what it must have sounded like, but rather than get angry O'Neill quietly laughed.
"That's what I keep telling him. It's hard to keep so many public events secure, but he insists on traveling all over the damned planet. I can't exactly say no, either, with him being the SGC's civilian face. People trust him more than the military; we need that now more than ever."
"I get that." John glanced over at Rodney again. "Sir, I hope you don't mind me saying this, but this has really put me off this entire PR tour thing. I was kinda hoping we'd get back to home sometime soon."
O'Neill grimaced but still nodded in acquiescence. "All right, no harm in moving up your departure a little. It'll have to wait until after the White House dinner tomorrow, though. There's going to be a lot of important people there, including most of the Stargate nations' leaders. I want you there putting that charm to good use. Besides, after today, I'll feel a lot better with McKay somewhere he can't yell at people."
"I'll do my best," John said with his most charming smile.
O'Neill snorted. "Maybe you can use your newest injury to get a little sympathy. You might need it some day."
John nodded. "Of course, sir. Thank you."
O'Neill studied him for a few minutes, then said, "Also, you meant that you were hoping to get back to Atlantis soon. Not home."
John froze. "Sir?"
"I've noticed you guys all have a tendency to refer to Atlantis as home," O'Neill said casually. Far too casually, John thought, because he knew that even O'Neill wasn't as laid back as he was trying to appear at the moment. John knew the trick well; he pulled it off himself all the time. "You need to stop it. Earth is your home, not Atlantis. At least not in public where the wrong sort of people might hear you."
"I'll keep that in mind, sir," John said, "and I'll pass it along."
"See that you do. There's already people who question the utility of keeping more than a token force in the city, and that attitude is going to get worse before it gets better. You guys need to be above reproach. I know that you'd never do anything to hurt Earth, whatever your ultimate loyalties," John's mouth dropped open at that statement a million panicked denials wanting to spill out at once, "but not everyone will be that magnanimous."
John didn't know what to say, but he didn't get a chance to respond in any case. Doctor Lam appeared in the infirmary's door and called, "General, Doctor Jackson's awake and asking for you."
"I'll be there in a second." O'Neill got to his feet. "Just keep out of the way and let Woolsey and me handle the politics. All you need to worry about is doing your job." He walked to the door, but paused at the threshold to look back. "Oh, and for God's sake, make sure you and you-know-who are careful."
With that, he left John to sit there in thought.
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End Note: For those wondering about Parrish, read this.
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