SGA-16 Homecoming - Book 1 of the Legacy Series Read online

  Dick saw the opening, saw light shining through it, not the speech he had prepared, but better. “They are our brothers and sisters, sir. The Ancients created both them and us from their own genes, made us in their own image, as it were, at some time in the distant past. But that distant and tenuous connection wasn’t the last contact. Our genetic tests based upon analysis of mitochondrial DNA suggest that at some point in the recent past, broadly speaking, there were people brought from Earth, perhaps as part of the Ancients’ scouting activity prior to their return. If they had always been an entirely separate genetic pool, none of the recent mutations in mitochondrial DNA would be common between them and us.”

  The President shook his head. “I’m not a geneticist, Richard. Bottom line it for me.”

  “Humanity on Earth has a broad spectrum of mitochondrial DNA markers, all originally derived from one woman, our mitochondrial African Eve, as the popular press calls her. All the humans in the Milky Way also descend from her, because the Goa’uld seeded her descendants throughout our galaxy. If the peoples of the Pegasus Galaxy were solely derived from a separate beginning by the Ancients, none of their mitochondrial DNA would match ours, as they would have been derived from another original source. Yet we have found, in our notably limited samples, that roughly 25 per cent of the people from the Pegasus Galaxy have mitochondrial DNA common on Earth, which is to say derived from the same ancestors. Some of the branch points were as late as 8,000 BC. For example, one of my colleagues from the Pegasus Galaxy carries a mitochondrial DNA marker that differentiated on the steppes of Central Asia between 10,000 and 8,000 BC, which is now most common among the Pashtun peoples.” Dick paused for effect, and to make certain the President was keeping up.

  He nodded seriously. “And this tells us?”

  “That people from Earth, at least with certainty women from Earth, were brought to the Pegasus Galaxy during the last days of the war. We’ve found evidence that the Ancients set up social science experiments, planets where the inhabitants were part of elaborate games or simulations. Perhaps they wanted to understand what had happened with our ancestors on Earth in their absence, and picked out some lab mice to run the maze, as it were. Or perhaps they brought them as allies. We’ll probably never know why. But we do know, for a fact, that some reasonable percentage of the people there are our distant kin. These are our brothers and sisters, inheiritors of an impoverished legacy. Atlantis is their only defense, and their only chance of rebuilding a civilization that can hold its own against the Wraith. For us to take it and keep it beggars the acquisition of the Elgin Marbles or the Bust of Nefertiti, because it is not merely their cultural treasure we take. It is their sole chance of survival.”

  The President looked grave, but his voice retained the measure of a schoolmaster, as though this were merely an academic question. “And yet it may be our sole chance of survival too.” He glanced over at the desk and the folders of classified material scattered on it. “Goa’uld. Ori. Wraith. Can we send away our best chance of turning back another assault?”

  “Wouldn’t we prefer to engage our enemies out there rather than here?” Dick asked.

  The President smiled. “I’m not sure you’re going to convince me with the domino theory, Richard.” He shook his head ruefully. “We can’t get things straight here on Earth. We can’t prevent starvation in the Sudan or find Osama bin Laden or negotiate peace in the Middle East. How are we going to do it in another galaxy? And in case you missed it while you were in Pegasus, we’re having a global economic crisis. I’m wondering how we’re going to prevent the Big Three automakers from going bankrupt. I’m wondering how we’re going to find the money to fund healthcare here. And you’re asking for perhaps the most ambitious commitment mankind has ever attempted.”

  “We have a duty to humanity,” Dick said. “Even if we cannot expend this planet’s resources defending the peoples of the Pegasus Galaxy, the least we can do is not take from them their last and best chance. If we can do no more, let’s take Atlantis home and turn it over to them. We can do no less.”

  The President steepled his hands against his lips thoughtfully. “Give Atlantis away.”

  “Return Atlantis to the people of the Pegasus Galaxy.”

  “And, in your opinion, are the people of the Pegasus Galaxy capable of preventing Atlantis and its Stargate from falling into the hands of the Wraith?”

  Dick saw the pit opening in front of his feet. “No,” he said quietly. “Not even the Genii.”

  “Would you say that it’s a fair assessment that turning Atlantis over would result in the Wraith gaining control of Atlantis in a short while?”

  Dick closed his eyes. “Yes.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  He opened them again. The President’s brown eyes were grave. “You know I can’t do that, Richard. I can’t hand the Wraith the keys to Earth.”

  Dick took a quick breath. “We’ve held Atlantis before. A small team of military advisors, perhaps with Colonel Sheppard…”

  “A small team of military advisors turns into a big team of military advisors turns into a couple of divisions turns into an undeclared war,” the President said. “That’s what history teaches us. We cannot afford another war. If we can’t back our troops up sufficiently, I’m not sending them in. I’ve had some hard words with General O’Neill, and with the Joint Chiefs. Our armed forces are stretched painfully thin, and I have cries for more troops from every quarter. To start another commitment at this time is very rash.”

  Dick swallowed, and the taste in his mouth was bitter.

  “On top of that, I have our closest allies and China both screaming about this, that it’s a violation of non-proliferation treaties, that we’ve intentionally misled them as to the purpose of the Stargate program and the Atlantis Expedition. The IOA is not going to permit Atlantis to go anywhere. In fact, they want me to open it fully to international teams and cede it entirely to their authority as an extra-territorial location.”

  “Even though it’s in US waters,” Dick said, grasping at straws. “That would essentially set the IOA up as Earth’s governing body. If they hold Atlantis as a sovereign state, and they have sole control of Atlantis’ weaponry…”

  “It would indeed. It would render the IOA the first planetary governing body.” The President nodded. “My opponents have said that I favor world government. That I’m planning to hand over America’s sovereignty to the UN because I’m the antichrist. But I don’t think I’m ready to hand the world over to the IOA. At least I was elected.”

  Dick sat perfectly still.

  “That was a joke,” the President said. “I’m not actually the antichrist.”

  “I know that, sir,” Dick said.

  The President leaned back on the couch. “And yet Atlantis is essentially destabilizing. You’re completely right about that. But do you see me explaining to Congress how I had the power to make this the American Millennium and sent it back to another galaxy? We could have the top spot for centuries, Pax Americana to the nth degree. And under a benevolent and tolerant rule the planet would bloom. Ancient technology would solve all the problems, and Ancient weapons would ensure the peace…” He stopped, his eyes dancing over the bookshelf on the far wall. “I’ve always wondered what I’d do if someone handed me a Ring of Power. That’s the question Tolkien asks, isn’t it?”

  Whiplash, Dick thought. He wasn’t keeping up on the turns. Elizabeth Weir would have. Elizabeth Weir could have. But she was not here. It was only him. “Is that who we are?”

  The President looked at him thoughtfully. “Who are we, Richard?”

  “Just people,” Dick said. “Flawed, selfish, amazing people. It’s what we choose to do that defines us. Isn’t that what Rowling asks?”

  The President’s mouth stretched into a wide grin. “Touché, Richard. I suppose you saw in the media I’ve been reading those books to my girls. The press liked that one.”

  “I might have seen it,” Dick said.
r />   The President stood up, stretching. “That covers it, then.”

  “Excuse me?” Dick hopped up as fast as possible.

  “Find me a way. Let’s punt this problem on down the road. If you can get the IOA and our allies to agree, then you’ll have your small team.” He held up a finger. “Small. We have no additional resources, much less large numbers of troops, to commit to this. This is a stopgap measure, not a solution. It doesn’t solve any problems beyond today. But find me a way, and I’ll authorize it.”

  “Mr. President,” Dick began.

  The President picked up the phone on the desk. “Kathryn, get a car for Mr. Woolsey. Wherever he needs to go.” He put the receiver down and looked at Dick, who was still speechless. “You need to present me a working solution. If you do, your city flies.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President,” Dick said. He could think of no possible solution, no possible way to do this thing he had just begged for and just been entrusted with. For a moment the weight was crushing. Everything that happened in the Pegasus Galaxy from that moment on rested on him, all the millions of lives, all the people who would never know his name. It all rested on him, on his skinny shoulders in his impeccably tailored coat.

  He had no idea how he shook the President’s hand or how he got out of the office, briefcase in hand, into the cold DC darkness. It was six pm on a cold February night. The traffic was streaming up Sixteenth Street, red tail lights shining through the gloom.

  The driver was a young Marine who looked back at him over the seat respectfully. “Where to, sir?”

  “20 Massachusetts,” Dick said, as though the idea were fully formed in his brain. “Homeworld Command. Let’s see if General O’Neill is still in his office.”

  * * *

  It had taken McKay and Beckett a full day to go over Todd’s clothes and remove a concealed transmitter and enough components to make two more, but at last he’d been prepared to certify that the garments were debugged. Literally, Beckett said, holding up something that looked unpleasantly organic, a green-black worm dangling from his tweezers. Sheppard closed his mind to the memory. Wraith technology was organic, biologically based: that was all.

  And, anyway, he had enough to worry about, with the IOA breathing down his neck. He’d been dodging a security meeting for thirty-six hours, and wasn’t going to be able to put it off much longer. He turned away from the door of the stasis room, looked back at the doctors busy at the console. Behind them, the door of the chamber was open, and a technician he didn’t recognize was standing half inside, laptop in hand.

  “How’s it coming?” he said, and realized he’d asked the same thing less then ten minutes before.

  “It’s coming,” Beckett said absently, not looking up, but Keller glared at him over her laptop. For a moment, Sheppard thought she was finally going to say something, but then she ducked her head again, focusing on the screen.

  “It’s just that we’re under some time pressure,” Sheppard began, and Beckett sighed.

  “I’m not Rodney, Colonel, you don’t have to motivate me that way.”

  “If you want this to work,” Keller said, “you’re going to have to let us finish adapting the stasis chamber to Wraith physiology. Or what we know of Wraith physiology, at least.” She shook her head, looked at Beckett. “I’m really not sure about this. Ancient technology doesn’t mesh well with Wraith biology, and there’s no way to run a safety test—”

  Beckett gave her one of his rare smiles. “You’ve done a grand job already, love. We’re almost there.”

  Keller shrugged. “Close, yes. But we won’t know for sure until he’s in the chamber. And if there’s a problem then—we just don’t know enough. We might not be able to revive him.”

  That doesn’t reassure me. Sheppard had just enough self-control left to keep from saying it out loud. Keller glanced at him as though she’d heard the thought, then looked back at Beckett.

  “I suppose I’m just saying, are we sure he understands the situation? That he doesn’t have to do this?”

  “He does have to do this,” Sheppard said, between his teeth. “It’s a matter of security.” And we sure as hell can’t feed him. And I won’t let them make him a lab rat.

  Keller ignored him. “Dr. Beckett, I really think Todd would be safer if he stayed in his cell—”

  “He can’t,” Sheppard said. This was all they needed, Keller getting some weird idea—

  “John’s right,” Beckett said. He glanced over his shoulder, lowering his voice so that the busy technicians couldn’t hear. “Otherwise—what do you think will happen to him?”

  Keller blinked. “Well, we could try the treatment again, see if we could fix it so he could eat normally without getting sick—”

  “They’ve got other plans,” Beckett said, and her face hardened.

  “Medical experiments? You can’t be serious.”

  Beckett nodded. “Never more so.”

  “I won’t allow it,” Keller said.

  “I don’t think you can stop it,” Sheppard said. “Except by putting him in stasis.”

  Keller’s mouth tightened as though it took an act of will to hold back whatever she would have said. “All right,” she said at last. “But only with his consent.”

  “He’s consented,” Sheppard said. “Are we ready?”

  Beckett took his arm, backed him away from the console so expertly that Sheppard almost didn’t realize what he had done. “Very nearly. But Jennifer is right, this isn’t something we can test ahead of time. It either works or it doesn’t, and if it doesn’t, Todd will die.”

  He was going to ask me to kill him, Sheppard thought. This has to look like a better deal. To say that felt weirdly like betrayal, and he compromised on, “It’s better than starving. Or being a test subject.”

  “Aye.” Beckett sighed. “Aye, that’s so.” He looked back at the console, and this time Keller nodded.

  “We’re as ready as we’re going to be.”

  “All right, then.” Beckett looked over his shoulder at the empty chamber, the lights gleaming in its depths.

  Sheppard wanted to ask him what it had been like for him, if he had dreamed, if he remembered being there—if it still filled the corners of his nightmares the way it did his own—but he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know the answers. Instead, he touched his earpiece. “This is Colonel Sheppard. You can bring the prisoner.”

  Todd looked less starved in his own clothes, more menacing. He’d been placed in the same restraints he’d worn before, the shackles that held his arms close to his side, but he strode into the room as though he owned it, the Marines with their lowered weapons as much escort as guard. It took balls to do that, Sheppard thought, even as he moved to meet them, that and a perverse sense of the dramatic.

  The Wraith bared his teeth as though he’d guessed the thought, and one of the Marines lifted his P90 just a little. Sheppard glared at him, and the man shuffled his feet, relaxing again.

  “You ready for this?” he said, and Todd made a sound that might have been laughter.

  “I have hibernated many times before.”

  Keller stepped around the console, stood looking up at the Wraith. She was within arm’s reach if he’d been free, and Sheppard wondered if she realized it. “I want you to understand that we don’t know that this will work. That there is a possibility that it will kill you rather than put you into stasis.”

  “I am well aware of it,” Todd answered. He fixed his eyes on Sheppard. “But there seem to be very few alternatives.”

  “None at all,” Sheppard said, and saw Todd nod almost imperceptibly.

  Keller’s mouth tightened again. “All right.”

  She stepped back, and Todd moved toward the stasis chamber, the Marines following. Sheppard moved with them, and wasn’t surprised when Todd turned back to face him.

  “I don’t suppose—” The Wraith lifted his shackled hands, and Sheppard shook his head.

  “Not a chance.”

>   “Very well.” Todd looked back at the chamber.

  “A little different from what you’re used to,” Sheppard said. “But, who knows, you may even find it comfy.”

  Todd showed teeth again, and stepped up onto the platform. He turned to face the door, his hands still held low at his side, and his eyes sought Sheppard’s. “Until next time, then.”

  Sheppard nodded. That was what this was about, that there be a next time—yeah, Todd had gotten them the ZPMs that saved the city, but it was more than just owing him. “Next time,” he said, softly, and Beckett looked up from his controls.

  “Ready to begin.”

  “Starting the process,” Keller answered, so close at Sheppard’s elbow that he started and then stepped back. She showed no signs of having noticed, all her focus on the displays in front of her.

  The chamber door slid shut, sealed with a sound so soft and deep it was more like a touch, the pressure of a finger against his breastbone. The transparent covering clouded, and Sheppard looked quickly over Keller’s shoulder. The indicators were shifting, flickering—going from yellow to green, most of them. A few wavered between yellow and orange; she frowned, touched keys, and at last those stabilized. The board glowed solid green, and Keller looked up with a sigh of relief.

  “He’s in stasis. Everything’s holding.”

  “Good job, love,” Beckett said. “Very good job.”