The Stars My Destination (SGA, ensemble) 17/17
Title: The Stars My Destination (17/17)
Author:
mad_maudlin
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis/Star Trek 2009 (mashup)
Length: 91,750 (total); 4,708 (this part)
Characters: All of them!
PairingS: Canonical levels of Elizabeth/Simon, Teyla/Kanaan
warnings: Graphic violence
Summary: When a terror from out of time threatens the heart of the Federation, the crew of the USS Atlantis must band together in order to stop it. But can they overcome their own demons to stop the greatest threat they'll ever face?
Part IV: time and fate
Seventeen
Rodney's nerves gave out right after he punched the buzzer, and he had forty-five seconds to try to devise a plausible evacuation route before the door opened. He wasn't in uniform, he'd changed into civvies for the flight to Vancouver, and the apartment was a walk-up on a crowded street. He could totally just run for it and nobody would be able to pick him out from a crowd-
The door opened. Jeannie's belly was already stretching the band of her skirt, and she stared at Rodney like he was a ghost, one hand flying up to cover her mouth. For a brief moment, Rodney's mind was perfectly blank. "Here," he blurted, shoving the bouquet of daisies in her face. "These are...yours. I'm just gonna-"
"Meredith!" she finally squeaked, and the next thing he knew she'd thrown her arms around his neck and was sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder. He had absolutely no idea how to interpret this. Was this a pregnancy thing? He'd heard this kind of thing was a pregnancy thing...oh, god, people were staring at them, detouring around the front stoop and the hysterical woman attached to his neck. He'd thought the worst she could do was slam the door on him. What did he do?
He ultimately concluded, "Um," and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder with the bouquet. Some petals broke off and landed in her hair. "Okay. This is...okay?"
"Hate you so much," Jeannie managed to say-a miracle, considering how hard she was crying. Crying was definitely harder to handle than screaming.
"Yeah, well," Rodney muttered, and his first impulse was to shoot back, same to you. But the whole point of coming up here was to try having a conversation at less than a hundred and twenty decibels for once. "Um. I also brought you chocolate?"
"You asshole," she added emphatically.
He winced. "Did you not want chocolate? I can get you something else. I can-well, no, you're not supposed to have-wait, can you have synthehol while pregnant? I didn't exactly research-"
She pulled away and covered his mouth with one hand; it smelled like she'd been chopping garlic, fixing dinner in a perfect little bubble of domestic bliss while he tried to convince his flight attendant to fork over the shuttle's maintanence records (just out of curiosty). "Mer," she said, still sniffling, "I thought you were dead. I thought you got blown up on Vulcan and Mom just wasn't telling me."
"Oh," Rodney blinked. Well, if he'd known that- "Um. I'm not, obviously. I mean I didn't. Get blown up. I mean...hi."
"Hi." She took the flowers out of his hand and got an iron grip on his wrist. "Upstairs. Now. Kaleb should be back from class any time and I'm making moussaka for dinner." And that sounded like the most awful way to spend an afternoon in Rodney's life-eggplant and liberal arts specialists-but, well, there was a reason he'd come here. He'd survived Wraith, he could survive his sister's loser boyfriend. Sighing, he let her pull him up the stairs.
-\-\-\-\-\-
It was still winter in the capital, only the faint first signs of spring coloring Charin's garden with hints of green. Teyla clutched a cup of tea in both hands and watched the birds squabbling for bread crusts in the rubbish bins. Beyond the compound were houses and shops and schools and theaters and cars and people, a whole world full of people who were safe and happy and oblivious to what they had narrowly avoided.
Michael would have come to Athos, of that she felt quite certain. He had not come, and though the Council had elected to be discreet about the details in public, they all knew how close the miss had been. There were rumors, of course, of white-haired monsters, of Wraith returned to destroy the unbelievers, and the more offensive of the faithful pointed to Vulcan as the worst of the apostates; Teyla had written a rather vicious editorial in response, but of course, she had been sworn not to reveal that which she wanted to say the most.
Then again-how to tell people that the rumors were true? How to tell them that the gods were real, but centuries dead? That demons still sailed the sky, but could be slain by mortal hands?
Charin came to stand next to her, just standing quietly for a few minutes. "You have been quiet since you returned," she said, finally, and sipped from her own cup of tea.
"I have much on my mind," Teyla said lamely.
"You have seen terrible things," Charin said, half-questioning.
"I have." And wonderful things, beautiful things-the city of Atlantis itself, the wormhole that had taken them to Clarke Station in the blink of an eye-and she could not help it that they filled her with more questions than answers. Her attempts at meditation had been spoiled by an unfamiliar restlessness, a desire to understand: why the Ancestors had seeded the galaxy with thinking life, why they had allowed themselves to be revered as gods, why they had fled and where they had fled to. Dr. Jackson had briefed them extensively, and spoken of Ascension in terms both vague and vaguely wistful, but until the city of Atlantis was opened and explored, they would never know for sure-and Teyla found she had begun to crave that certainty, now that it seemed nothing could be taken for granted.
Charin suddenly embraced her, wrapping her free arm tight around Teyla's shoulders. "My poor child. I knew this Starfleet would bring you trouble."
"It has brought me nothing I did not seek myself," Teyla said wearily.
"Of course not," Charin sighed. "For you are Teyla Emmagen, and none stands against you, and whatever you will shall be true."
Teyla pulled away from the hug, and set her teacup down. "You speak as if I am still a willful child," she said. "Surely I am not as bad as all that?"
"Not anymore, no," Charin said, and her faced softened. "I am sorry, Teyla. You are not a child, and I should not speak to you as one. But I will not pretend I am not heartsick to see you so sad when you will not tell me of the cause."
"There are things I cannot tell you," Teyla said. "And...there are things I would not burden you with."
"Now who is the child?" Charin asked wryly. "I have seen many things in my time, Teyla. I may not be a brave space explorer, but nor will I break if you tell me what troubles you."
I fear you would, though, if I told you this. "I will be fine, Charin." She forced a smile, and thought ironically of Michael's long vendetta, his quest to avenge wrongs that were never committed. "Time itself is the greatest healer, is it not?"
"It is also said that pain shared is pain halved," Charin shot back. "Do not get into a battle of aphorisms with me, my dear, you will not win."
That drew a genuine laugh out of Teyla, and on impulse she hugged Charin close. "Simply being home with you helps me greatly," she said, because it was true-after so long confined to Earth, it was good to be back home, among familiar faces and customs. The rooms of her childhood, which had been a haven after her parents' deaths; the smells of tea and incense that spoke of her guardian and her home.
There was certainty in this, if nothing else: in home and family and the traditions of her people. And perhaps by the time she finally found her answers, her people would be ready to hear them.
"I pray to the Ancestors that it will help enough," Charin said, and Teyla's heart twisted, but she did not yet pull away from the embrace.
-\-\-\-\-\-
The official commencement ceremony for the Starfleet Academy class of 2258 took place a month later than planned, under cloudy skies; a misty drizzle had coated the grass of the parade grounds with dampness, but a hasty portable shield kept it from drenching the cadets and guests during the ceremony.
Extra ranks of chairs had been added at the rear of the field for the third-class cadets receiving early commissions. Still, almost two-thirds of the seats stood empty but for a folded officer's duty tunic, the bright colors burning against the murky sky: a graphic rendering of the final cost of the Battle of Vulcan. Almost three thousand dead or wounded from the seven destroyed ships, including over a hundred killed aboard the Atlantis, though Jonn wasn't sure of that ship's official fate yet-with half of it orbiting Lantea in pieces the size of marbles, he wasn't exactly optimistic.
The stadium was nearly silent as Nixon ascended to the podium; it went completely silent as he looked out over the sparsely filled seats. Jonn rose to attention with the rest of the graduates, empty chairs on every side of him. "Cadets," Nixon said gravely, staring out at a sea of empty seats. "Today we solemnize for the ninety-seventh time the graduation and commissioning of a new class of Starfleet officers. We do so in the absence of many of our colleagues who made the ultimate sacrifice in defense of Vulcan. They stand remembered."
And for once, the old windbag chose to leave it at that.
Jonn spent most of the ceremony trying to spot people he knew without being obvious about it, tuning out most of the speeches. Rodney, having finally defended his thesis, had officially been transferred into the science division; he'd practically lived in the blue dress jacket for the past few days, and he had an aisle seat, so Jonn had a clear view of him fidgeting with the braids on his cuffs. Emmagen in theory was somewhere in front of him, with the operations-division officers, but she was so short he couldn't pick her out from the crowd. Zelenka and Ford were both seated somewhere behind him, and he couldn't gracefully turn around to search for them. Weir was sitting on the podium with the rest of the faculty, but for some reason she wasn't in uniform; she sat in the back, with a black armband, and did a passable job of looking attentive.
We few, we happy few. The survivors, the victors. Even if they never saw each other again after today, Jonn would probably remember them until the day he died. His crew, at least for one day.
One by one, Nixon announced the names of the cadets-all of them, the living and the dead-along with their degrees or awards. Normally this was where he'd also announce their future assignments, but that had suddenly become problematic-after so much death and destruction, there was a sudden, pressing need to rewrite a whole lot of personnel files. Jonn still didn't know where he was going to end up, but he at least had hope it wasn't going to be a ritual burial back on Mars, if only because they'd hastily awarded him the highest security clearance in the Federation. Bit of a waste for a part-time pilot.
When his name was called, he ascended to the podium and stood face-to-face with Nixon. For some reason the first thing he thought was that the admiral looked shorter than usual, and definitely older; perhaps he'd used up his excess hoard of words writing letters to the families of the fallen. "Raise your right hand and repeat after me," Nixon said mechanically, mirroring the pose himself for the umpteenth time.
And Jonn repeated: "I, Jonn Sheppard, do solemnly swear to support and defend the United Federation of Planets and its member words against all threats, internal and external; to bear true faith and allegiance to the Federation and the principles of its Charter and Constitution; and to seek out new life and new civilizations in a spirit of peace, friendship and discovery. I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office which I am about to enter."
"Congratulations," Nixon said in an undertone, shaking Jonn's hand with a little too much force. "Never thought this day would come, myself."
"Sorry to disappoint you, sir," Jonn said, straight-faced, and Nixon actually huffed out a small noise that could almost be taken as a laugh.
-\-\-\-\-\-
There were formal receptions and informal parties scheduled for the rest of the day, but Jonn slipped back his dorm to change out of his dress uniform first-whoever had designed it sure hadn't had comfort in mind. He and Rodney were both already mostly packed up, even if they didn't actually have their orders yet: Rodney's possessions had expanded to include three boat-like suitcases and a footlocker, but somehow or another Jonn's stuff still fit in the same battered jump bag he'd brought with him from Uchronia Planitia. Funny how little some things changed.
Almost as an afterthought, he switched on the padd on his desk and checked his messages while stripping off his heavy tunic and wrestling it back into its bag. There was one that made him pause, from his half-brother of all people, and he stared at it for a long time before passing it by unread; he was already in a weird mood from the ceremony and he had a hunch that anything Dave could say would only make it worse. Besides, there was another message from Starfleet Command, and that was surely more immediately relevant. He opened it to skim while he was unlacing his boots.
Effective immediately...rank of lieutenant commander...
He froze with the laces still tangled in his fingers.
...for valorous action in the face of extreme danger, conduct above and beyond the call of duty... He grabbed the padd off his desk and scrolled back to the top of the message. A goddamn promotion, and his pick of assignments...recommendation of Capt. Elizabeth Weir (ret.)... What the hell?
He tried calling Rodney first, mostly for a place to vent his incredulity (and to find out just what the hell he put in those forged orders); when that didn't go through, he hunted down Emmagen's's contact information, Hammond's, and even Weir's own. No dice. Of course, he did have access to his own personnel file, so he opened that up to see what kind of recommendation Weir could possibly have written him.
As acting commander of the Federation starship USS Atlantis, I sincerely commend Lt. Jonn Sheppard for his actions during the Battle of Vulcan (SD 2258.145) and the Battle of Lantea (SD 2258.147). Lt. Sheppard demonstrated exceptional courage under fire on both occasions while leading direct action against the enemy at tremendous personal risk, and on both occassions he succeeded in achieve his objective in the face of considerable resistance. His judgment, leadship and personal integrity contributed greatly to the success of the Atlantis' mission, and his tactical planning was crucial to the successful outcome of the Battle of Lantea. I can waithout reservation recommend Lt. Sheppard to the posting of his choosing, and I predict he will have a long and successful career in Starfleet.
He read the whole thing twice before he truly believed what he was seeing. You'll never rise about the rank you're commissioned to, Weir had told him, back on the Atlantis, and here he'd just been offered what was probably one of the fastest damn promotions in Starfleet history. And yeah, it probably had a lot to do with how many line officers had died at Vulcan, too, and the borrowed glory from the destruction of the hive ship, and maybe a little bit of whatever voodoo Admiral Hammond was capable of doing, and this little nudge from Weir-but still. Lieutenant Commander. You didn't get that high up the promotion lists without a reason.
Jonn realized that, for the first time all day, he was genuinely smiling.
-\-\-\-\-\-
Elizabeth had excused herself from the commencement reception as soon as was polite-not just because she had packing to do, either. Even though the details of the battle over Lantea were still mostly classified, there was no way they could conceal the fact that the Atlantis had destroyed Michael's hive, and there was a limit on how long she could smile graciously and wrangle with the effusive praise and indirect questions from those lower in the security-clearance ecosystem. In some ways it was even worse dealing with the handful of people who knew the full details-she'd had her fill of Senator Kinsey staring at her from across the room with lowered brows and a scowling mouth.
Besides, none of it was going to be her business much longer. She had submitted her resignation the same day she'd been promoted, explaining to Command that her priorities had shifted. The relief efforts on Vulcan would be extensive and ongoing for months, if not years to come; more than half the evacuees were still living on ships in orbit because there weren't adequate safe accommodations on the surface. The Federation needed people to organize and administer the aid process, people who could work with the Vulcan authorities and navigate the culture. And Elizabeth-well, she needed to think, and she might as well be doing something constructive in the meantime. If Kinsey's people wanted to sic a watchdog on Stargate Command, they had plenty of other options.
At that particular moment her mind was focused, for the most part, on the practicalities of packing-she couldn't really justify shipping some of the books, but perhaps Teyla would like to keep a few of them-and so she almost walked right past the person standing outside her apartment building, staring up at the facade. In fact, she probably would've barreled right past, if she hadn't registered the Vulcan outer robe, hood raised against the drizzle. Elizabeth slowed down, wondering-was this person looking for her? A refugee, maybe, or embassy staff? Or maybe nothing to do with her at all... "Can I help you?" she asked, stopping.
The woman in the robe turned around, showing a smile that dimpled the corners of her mouth. "I was actually going to ask you the same question."
For one peculiar minute, Elizabeth wondered why this woman reminded her so much of someone she knew-her grandmother, maybe, or that great-aunt from the Moon she only ever met at funerals. But not exactly, because there was something about the shape of her chin, something about the faded green eyes-
And then recognition hit, and all the air seemed to leave her lungs at once. Time travel, she remembered-they're argued about it-but surely it couldn't actually be-
"I'm sure Rodney will be happy to explain all the details for you," the woman...herself...said wryly. "Whether you want him to or not is a different matter entirely, of course."
Seeing her own face at so many decades' remove was...interesting. Elizabeth tried not to stare, and ended up averting her eyes entirely for a moment. "So that explains a few things," she said inanely.
"I thought it might," the other Elizabeth said. "I hope you don't blame Jonn for keeping it a secret, but there were more important matters at hand."
"Of course I don't blame him." She thought she'd done right by Sheppard, in the end, a recommendation to cancel out a censure; there wasn't much more she could do, on her way out the door, but she hoped he understood the intention of the gesture. She'd done her best to give him a second chance, a level playing field, but what happened next was mostly up to him.
The old woman looked at her-had to look slightly up, actually, though her posture was still upright-and the smile slipped off her face. "Now. What's this about you resigning your commission?
Elizabeth heard her mother's voice echoed through her own in those words; it was a surreal effect. "I'm needed on Vulcan," she said, half-defensively. "The aid effort is so massive-"
"You're needed in more than one place," her other self said chidingly. "Or did you think Starfleet just handed out captain's stripes like party favors?"
"Are you telling me I'm not supposed to leave the fleet?" Elizabeth asked warily. She'd never been particularly interested in the mechanics and ethics of time travel, much less the ontological implications, and hadn't Rodney said something about a parallel universe...?
"I'm telling you that I know us," she answered flatly. "And so do you. Wasting your talents on the relief efforts isn't going to make the survivor's guilt go away. Hiding from Starfleet isn't going to change the fact that you've commanded a ship in combat and you liked it. And you can't keep one foot on Vulcan forever, no matter how much you might want to."
Elizabeth averted her eyes again, one hand clutching the handle of her umbrella while the other one curled into a fist at her side. She'd had the same conversation in her own head, again and again, and wasn't this just another version of that? Talking to herself? But not really, because this Elizabeth was so much older, so much different... "Does this advice come from personal experience?" she asked quietly.
The older Elizabeth smiled gently. "In a way. I bent the laws of time, space and Starfleet to get back to that captain's chair sometimes, and it very rarely had anything to do with logic."
"Atlantis is supposed to be scuttled," Elizabeth said quietly. "There's no chair to sit in."
That provoked another chuckle. "Don't tell Jonn that." When Elizabeth only blinked at her, the older woman's smile slipped, and she sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm getting off topic. My point is-starships can be rebuilt. And the chair is a metaphor anyway. All that matters is...is that you are in a place that you need just as much as it needs you. And that you don't ever apologize for it. We do not make a good martyr, in any timeline."
"And you?" Elizabeth asked-knowing each other well went both ways, it seemed. "What is it that you need?"
The old woman laughed a bit. "I, as a matter of fact, am taking up a position in the Vulcan relief project." When Elizabeth just raised an eyebrow at her, she elaborated, "It's too tempting to hang around Starfleet-too many things I might let slip. Too many reminders...and anyway, I already had all my adventures." The smile finally touched her eyes. "And you and I together get the unique distinction of being in two places at once."
Elizabeth found a smile tugging at her own mouth, to her surprise. "I suppose I can keep you posted," she said, unsure if she had really even made a decision yet. "If you do me the same favor."
But her older self just shook her head. "No. Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, but-it's your life now, Elizabeth. Not even I can tell you what to do with it."
Too tempting, of course. Elizabeth nodded. "All right," she said, as if saying could make it so, as if announcing it with enough authority would force her thoughts to obey. "All right. Thank you...Elizabeth."
"Strange, isn't it?" she replied with good humor. "With any luck we'll get used to it in the end."
Elizabeth nodded, and for the first time in a long time, raised her hand in the old, familiar farewell. "Live long and prosper, Ms. Weir."
She replied with one raised eyebrow. "Peace and long life, Captain." Then she adjusted her hood, and disappeared back into the rain.
-\-\-\-\-\-
She'd been told to report to the embarkation room, except there technically was no embarkation room on any of the maps of Clarke Station-all signs lead to the gate room, and until she actually found it Elizabeth wasn't entirely certain they were the same thing. It said something about the program here, that they already had their own nomenclature, their own subculture of quirks-starships developed that, over time, after a five-year deployment or two, but this was Earth's own backyard, for all they spent their time far away from it. She knew people within the Federation Council who considered it a problem; she wondered if Starfleet Command did.
She wondered if it was going to be a problem for her, when she was so much further away.
She dodged out of the way of an antigrav loaded with odd-sized boxes, half-turned to let a row of petty officers past-her backpack was loaded down with personal items, the precious few they'd be allowed to bring in this first rushed jump, and who knew when they'd next be able to get a starship out to Lantea? That half-turn became a full turn when someone else elbowed past in a huff-Doctor Jackson, she suspected, as he'd been in a towering snit for several days-and she found herself backing awkwardly into the gate room, praying she wouldn't trip ignominiously over something in her way.
A familiar voice boomed out over the tumult. "Captain on the deck!"
She spun around, and found herself facing row after row of salutes, all urgency very briefly put on pause. In the center of the room, a ramp lead down from the quiescent gate; at the foot of the ramp, Jonn Sheppard stood at crisp attention, and appeared to have just elbowed Rodney McKay into the same; Teyla Emmagen stood on his other side. "At ease," Elizabeth called, and just like that the room flew back into motion, except for the trio in front of the gate.
She made her way up to the ramp, where Sheppard, at least, was still only at parade rest. She never thought she'd see the day. "A pleasure to see you, Commander, Lieutenants," she said, nodding at each of them in turn.
"Ma'am," Sheppard said, straight-faced. "Glad to see you made it on time."
"Glad to see you made it here at all," she confessed. "I know this wasn't exactly the only assignment any of you were offered."
"Are you kidding?" McKay blurted with a roll of his eyes. "Where else are we gonna go?"
Teyla shot him am exasperated look. "It was the assignment that offered the greatest potential reward," she said evenly.
He huffed back at her. "This is the only assignment that was worth anything to me. Why would I want to be sitting around here proving other people's equations when there's all that-" He flapped one hand in the direction of the gate- "out there?"
"I suppose that's one way to look at it," Elizabeth said, before Teyla could shoot back a reply.
"Besides," Sheppard said with a small, enigmatic smile, "after all that trouble we went to, it kinda seemed appropriate. Almost like...fate."
Elizabeth wondered suddenly, intensely, what it was her other self had said to Jonn, what he might be hiding from her. McKay, on the other hand, just made a rude noise. "Please. There is no such thing as fate in a quantum-deterministic universe. Besides the part where I already explained about the many-worlds hypothesis-"
"Then let it not be fate," Teyla said loudly; McKay broke off his rant with a wounded look in her direction. "Let it instead be an auspicious beginning-that together, we slew monsters."
"Well, when you put it that way..." McKay muttered, averting his eyes.
Elizabeth looked at these people, her people, and realized it didn't really matter what secrets the older version of her was keeping; whatever had happened in that other future would stay there. It was as terrifying as it was liberating. "'We are not now that strength which in old days moved heaven and earth, but that which we are, we are,'" she quoted, even though it wasn't quite right, didn't quite fit-it was close enough for now.
McKay and Teyla looked a little confused, but Sheppard nodded, emphatically. "Couldn't have said it better myself."
"Let me know when we're ready to dial, Commander," she told him, letting a smile slip out-some combination of nerves and anticipation and joy. "I'll be in the control room." Elizabeth took one last chance to survey these people-her people, what a novel idea-before she fled up the steps, to wait for the moment when everything really began.
Chapter One
Chapter Sixteen
Author:
mad_maudlin
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis/Star Trek 2009 (mashup)
Length: 91,750 (total); 4,708 (this part)
Characters: All of them!
PairingS: Canonical levels of Elizabeth/Simon, Teyla/Kanaan
warnings: Graphic violence
Summary: When a terror from out of time threatens the heart of the Federation, the crew of the USS Atlantis must band together in order to stop it. But can they overcome their own demons to stop the greatest threat they'll ever face?
Part IV: time and fate
Seventeen
Rodney's nerves gave out right after he punched the buzzer, and he had forty-five seconds to try to devise a plausible evacuation route before the door opened. He wasn't in uniform, he'd changed into civvies for the flight to Vancouver, and the apartment was a walk-up on a crowded street. He could totally just run for it and nobody would be able to pick him out from a crowd-
The door opened. Jeannie's belly was already stretching the band of her skirt, and she stared at Rodney like he was a ghost, one hand flying up to cover her mouth. For a brief moment, Rodney's mind was perfectly blank. "Here," he blurted, shoving the bouquet of daisies in her face. "These are...yours. I'm just gonna-"
"Meredith!" she finally squeaked, and the next thing he knew she'd thrown her arms around his neck and was sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder. He had absolutely no idea how to interpret this. Was this a pregnancy thing? He'd heard this kind of thing was a pregnancy thing...oh, god, people were staring at them, detouring around the front stoop and the hysterical woman attached to his neck. He'd thought the worst she could do was slam the door on him. What did he do?
He ultimately concluded, "Um," and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder with the bouquet. Some petals broke off and landed in her hair. "Okay. This is...okay?"
"Hate you so much," Jeannie managed to say-a miracle, considering how hard she was crying. Crying was definitely harder to handle than screaming.
"Yeah, well," Rodney muttered, and his first impulse was to shoot back, same to you. But the whole point of coming up here was to try having a conversation at less than a hundred and twenty decibels for once. "Um. I also brought you chocolate?"
"You asshole," she added emphatically.
He winced. "Did you not want chocolate? I can get you something else. I can-well, no, you're not supposed to have-wait, can you have synthehol while pregnant? I didn't exactly research-"
She pulled away and covered his mouth with one hand; it smelled like she'd been chopping garlic, fixing dinner in a perfect little bubble of domestic bliss while he tried to convince his flight attendant to fork over the shuttle's maintanence records (just out of curiosty). "Mer," she said, still sniffling, "I thought you were dead. I thought you got blown up on Vulcan and Mom just wasn't telling me."
"Oh," Rodney blinked. Well, if he'd known that- "Um. I'm not, obviously. I mean I didn't. Get blown up. I mean...hi."
"Hi." She took the flowers out of his hand and got an iron grip on his wrist. "Upstairs. Now. Kaleb should be back from class any time and I'm making moussaka for dinner." And that sounded like the most awful way to spend an afternoon in Rodney's life-eggplant and liberal arts specialists-but, well, there was a reason he'd come here. He'd survived Wraith, he could survive his sister's loser boyfriend. Sighing, he let her pull him up the stairs.
-\-\-\-\-\-
It was still winter in the capital, only the faint first signs of spring coloring Charin's garden with hints of green. Teyla clutched a cup of tea in both hands and watched the birds squabbling for bread crusts in the rubbish bins. Beyond the compound were houses and shops and schools and theaters and cars and people, a whole world full of people who were safe and happy and oblivious to what they had narrowly avoided.
Michael would have come to Athos, of that she felt quite certain. He had not come, and though the Council had elected to be discreet about the details in public, they all knew how close the miss had been. There were rumors, of course, of white-haired monsters, of Wraith returned to destroy the unbelievers, and the more offensive of the faithful pointed to Vulcan as the worst of the apostates; Teyla had written a rather vicious editorial in response, but of course, she had been sworn not to reveal that which she wanted to say the most.
Then again-how to tell people that the rumors were true? How to tell them that the gods were real, but centuries dead? That demons still sailed the sky, but could be slain by mortal hands?
Charin came to stand next to her, just standing quietly for a few minutes. "You have been quiet since you returned," she said, finally, and sipped from her own cup of tea.
"I have much on my mind," Teyla said lamely.
"You have seen terrible things," Charin said, half-questioning.
"I have." And wonderful things, beautiful things-the city of Atlantis itself, the wormhole that had taken them to Clarke Station in the blink of an eye-and she could not help it that they filled her with more questions than answers. Her attempts at meditation had been spoiled by an unfamiliar restlessness, a desire to understand: why the Ancestors had seeded the galaxy with thinking life, why they had allowed themselves to be revered as gods, why they had fled and where they had fled to. Dr. Jackson had briefed them extensively, and spoken of Ascension in terms both vague and vaguely wistful, but until the city of Atlantis was opened and explored, they would never know for sure-and Teyla found she had begun to crave that certainty, now that it seemed nothing could be taken for granted.
Charin suddenly embraced her, wrapping her free arm tight around Teyla's shoulders. "My poor child. I knew this Starfleet would bring you trouble."
"It has brought me nothing I did not seek myself," Teyla said wearily.
"Of course not," Charin sighed. "For you are Teyla Emmagen, and none stands against you, and whatever you will shall be true."
Teyla pulled away from the hug, and set her teacup down. "You speak as if I am still a willful child," she said. "Surely I am not as bad as all that?"
"Not anymore, no," Charin said, and her faced softened. "I am sorry, Teyla. You are not a child, and I should not speak to you as one. But I will not pretend I am not heartsick to see you so sad when you will not tell me of the cause."
"There are things I cannot tell you," Teyla said. "And...there are things I would not burden you with."
"Now who is the child?" Charin asked wryly. "I have seen many things in my time, Teyla. I may not be a brave space explorer, but nor will I break if you tell me what troubles you."
I fear you would, though, if I told you this. "I will be fine, Charin." She forced a smile, and thought ironically of Michael's long vendetta, his quest to avenge wrongs that were never committed. "Time itself is the greatest healer, is it not?"
"It is also said that pain shared is pain halved," Charin shot back. "Do not get into a battle of aphorisms with me, my dear, you will not win."
That drew a genuine laugh out of Teyla, and on impulse she hugged Charin close. "Simply being home with you helps me greatly," she said, because it was true-after so long confined to Earth, it was good to be back home, among familiar faces and customs. The rooms of her childhood, which had been a haven after her parents' deaths; the smells of tea and incense that spoke of her guardian and her home.
There was certainty in this, if nothing else: in home and family and the traditions of her people. And perhaps by the time she finally found her answers, her people would be ready to hear them.
"I pray to the Ancestors that it will help enough," Charin said, and Teyla's heart twisted, but she did not yet pull away from the embrace.
-\-\-\-\-\-
The official commencement ceremony for the Starfleet Academy class of 2258 took place a month later than planned, under cloudy skies; a misty drizzle had coated the grass of the parade grounds with dampness, but a hasty portable shield kept it from drenching the cadets and guests during the ceremony.
Extra ranks of chairs had been added at the rear of the field for the third-class cadets receiving early commissions. Still, almost two-thirds of the seats stood empty but for a folded officer's duty tunic, the bright colors burning against the murky sky: a graphic rendering of the final cost of the Battle of Vulcan. Almost three thousand dead or wounded from the seven destroyed ships, including over a hundred killed aboard the Atlantis, though Jonn wasn't sure of that ship's official fate yet-with half of it orbiting Lantea in pieces the size of marbles, he wasn't exactly optimistic.
The stadium was nearly silent as Nixon ascended to the podium; it went completely silent as he looked out over the sparsely filled seats. Jonn rose to attention with the rest of the graduates, empty chairs on every side of him. "Cadets," Nixon said gravely, staring out at a sea of empty seats. "Today we solemnize for the ninety-seventh time the graduation and commissioning of a new class of Starfleet officers. We do so in the absence of many of our colleagues who made the ultimate sacrifice in defense of Vulcan. They stand remembered."
And for once, the old windbag chose to leave it at that.
Jonn spent most of the ceremony trying to spot people he knew without being obvious about it, tuning out most of the speeches. Rodney, having finally defended his thesis, had officially been transferred into the science division; he'd practically lived in the blue dress jacket for the past few days, and he had an aisle seat, so Jonn had a clear view of him fidgeting with the braids on his cuffs. Emmagen in theory was somewhere in front of him, with the operations-division officers, but she was so short he couldn't pick her out from the crowd. Zelenka and Ford were both seated somewhere behind him, and he couldn't gracefully turn around to search for them. Weir was sitting on the podium with the rest of the faculty, but for some reason she wasn't in uniform; she sat in the back, with a black armband, and did a passable job of looking attentive.
We few, we happy few. The survivors, the victors. Even if they never saw each other again after today, Jonn would probably remember them until the day he died. His crew, at least for one day.
One by one, Nixon announced the names of the cadets-all of them, the living and the dead-along with their degrees or awards. Normally this was where he'd also announce their future assignments, but that had suddenly become problematic-after so much death and destruction, there was a sudden, pressing need to rewrite a whole lot of personnel files. Jonn still didn't know where he was going to end up, but he at least had hope it wasn't going to be a ritual burial back on Mars, if only because they'd hastily awarded him the highest security clearance in the Federation. Bit of a waste for a part-time pilot.
When his name was called, he ascended to the podium and stood face-to-face with Nixon. For some reason the first thing he thought was that the admiral looked shorter than usual, and definitely older; perhaps he'd used up his excess hoard of words writing letters to the families of the fallen. "Raise your right hand and repeat after me," Nixon said mechanically, mirroring the pose himself for the umpteenth time.
And Jonn repeated: "I, Jonn Sheppard, do solemnly swear to support and defend the United Federation of Planets and its member words against all threats, internal and external; to bear true faith and allegiance to the Federation and the principles of its Charter and Constitution; and to seek out new life and new civilizations in a spirit of peace, friendship and discovery. I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office which I am about to enter."
"Congratulations," Nixon said in an undertone, shaking Jonn's hand with a little too much force. "Never thought this day would come, myself."
"Sorry to disappoint you, sir," Jonn said, straight-faced, and Nixon actually huffed out a small noise that could almost be taken as a laugh.
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There were formal receptions and informal parties scheduled for the rest of the day, but Jonn slipped back his dorm to change out of his dress uniform first-whoever had designed it sure hadn't had comfort in mind. He and Rodney were both already mostly packed up, even if they didn't actually have their orders yet: Rodney's possessions had expanded to include three boat-like suitcases and a footlocker, but somehow or another Jonn's stuff still fit in the same battered jump bag he'd brought with him from Uchronia Planitia. Funny how little some things changed.
Almost as an afterthought, he switched on the padd on his desk and checked his messages while stripping off his heavy tunic and wrestling it back into its bag. There was one that made him pause, from his half-brother of all people, and he stared at it for a long time before passing it by unread; he was already in a weird mood from the ceremony and he had a hunch that anything Dave could say would only make it worse. Besides, there was another message from Starfleet Command, and that was surely more immediately relevant. He opened it to skim while he was unlacing his boots.
Effective immediately...rank of lieutenant commander...
He froze with the laces still tangled in his fingers.
...for valorous action in the face of extreme danger, conduct above and beyond the call of duty... He grabbed the padd off his desk and scrolled back to the top of the message. A goddamn promotion, and his pick of assignments...recommendation of Capt. Elizabeth Weir (ret.)... What the hell?
He tried calling Rodney first, mostly for a place to vent his incredulity (and to find out just what the hell he put in those forged orders); when that didn't go through, he hunted down Emmagen's's contact information, Hammond's, and even Weir's own. No dice. Of course, he did have access to his own personnel file, so he opened that up to see what kind of recommendation Weir could possibly have written him.
As acting commander of the Federation starship USS Atlantis, I sincerely commend Lt. Jonn Sheppard for his actions during the Battle of Vulcan (SD 2258.145) and the Battle of Lantea (SD 2258.147). Lt. Sheppard demonstrated exceptional courage under fire on both occasions while leading direct action against the enemy at tremendous personal risk, and on both occassions he succeeded in achieve his objective in the face of considerable resistance. His judgment, leadship and personal integrity contributed greatly to the success of the Atlantis' mission, and his tactical planning was crucial to the successful outcome of the Battle of Lantea. I can waithout reservation recommend Lt. Sheppard to the posting of his choosing, and I predict he will have a long and successful career in Starfleet.
He read the whole thing twice before he truly believed what he was seeing. You'll never rise about the rank you're commissioned to, Weir had told him, back on the Atlantis, and here he'd just been offered what was probably one of the fastest damn promotions in Starfleet history. And yeah, it probably had a lot to do with how many line officers had died at Vulcan, too, and the borrowed glory from the destruction of the hive ship, and maybe a little bit of whatever voodoo Admiral Hammond was capable of doing, and this little nudge from Weir-but still. Lieutenant Commander. You didn't get that high up the promotion lists without a reason.
Jonn realized that, for the first time all day, he was genuinely smiling.
-\-\-\-\-\-
Elizabeth had excused herself from the commencement reception as soon as was polite-not just because she had packing to do, either. Even though the details of the battle over Lantea were still mostly classified, there was no way they could conceal the fact that the Atlantis had destroyed Michael's hive, and there was a limit on how long she could smile graciously and wrangle with the effusive praise and indirect questions from those lower in the security-clearance ecosystem. In some ways it was even worse dealing with the handful of people who knew the full details-she'd had her fill of Senator Kinsey staring at her from across the room with lowered brows and a scowling mouth.
Besides, none of it was going to be her business much longer. She had submitted her resignation the same day she'd been promoted, explaining to Command that her priorities had shifted. The relief efforts on Vulcan would be extensive and ongoing for months, if not years to come; more than half the evacuees were still living on ships in orbit because there weren't adequate safe accommodations on the surface. The Federation needed people to organize and administer the aid process, people who could work with the Vulcan authorities and navigate the culture. And Elizabeth-well, she needed to think, and she might as well be doing something constructive in the meantime. If Kinsey's people wanted to sic a watchdog on Stargate Command, they had plenty of other options.
At that particular moment her mind was focused, for the most part, on the practicalities of packing-she couldn't really justify shipping some of the books, but perhaps Teyla would like to keep a few of them-and so she almost walked right past the person standing outside her apartment building, staring up at the facade. In fact, she probably would've barreled right past, if she hadn't registered the Vulcan outer robe, hood raised against the drizzle. Elizabeth slowed down, wondering-was this person looking for her? A refugee, maybe, or embassy staff? Or maybe nothing to do with her at all... "Can I help you?" she asked, stopping.
The woman in the robe turned around, showing a smile that dimpled the corners of her mouth. "I was actually going to ask you the same question."
For one peculiar minute, Elizabeth wondered why this woman reminded her so much of someone she knew-her grandmother, maybe, or that great-aunt from the Moon she only ever met at funerals. But not exactly, because there was something about the shape of her chin, something about the faded green eyes-
And then recognition hit, and all the air seemed to leave her lungs at once. Time travel, she remembered-they're argued about it-but surely it couldn't actually be-
"I'm sure Rodney will be happy to explain all the details for you," the woman...herself...said wryly. "Whether you want him to or not is a different matter entirely, of course."
Seeing her own face at so many decades' remove was...interesting. Elizabeth tried not to stare, and ended up averting her eyes entirely for a moment. "So that explains a few things," she said inanely.
"I thought it might," the other Elizabeth said. "I hope you don't blame Jonn for keeping it a secret, but there were more important matters at hand."
"Of course I don't blame him." She thought she'd done right by Sheppard, in the end, a recommendation to cancel out a censure; there wasn't much more she could do, on her way out the door, but she hoped he understood the intention of the gesture. She'd done her best to give him a second chance, a level playing field, but what happened next was mostly up to him.
The old woman looked at her-had to look slightly up, actually, though her posture was still upright-and the smile slipped off her face. "Now. What's this about you resigning your commission?
Elizabeth heard her mother's voice echoed through her own in those words; it was a surreal effect. "I'm needed on Vulcan," she said, half-defensively. "The aid effort is so massive-"
"You're needed in more than one place," her other self said chidingly. "Or did you think Starfleet just handed out captain's stripes like party favors?"
"Are you telling me I'm not supposed to leave the fleet?" Elizabeth asked warily. She'd never been particularly interested in the mechanics and ethics of time travel, much less the ontological implications, and hadn't Rodney said something about a parallel universe...?
"I'm telling you that I know us," she answered flatly. "And so do you. Wasting your talents on the relief efforts isn't going to make the survivor's guilt go away. Hiding from Starfleet isn't going to change the fact that you've commanded a ship in combat and you liked it. And you can't keep one foot on Vulcan forever, no matter how much you might want to."
Elizabeth averted her eyes again, one hand clutching the handle of her umbrella while the other one curled into a fist at her side. She'd had the same conversation in her own head, again and again, and wasn't this just another version of that? Talking to herself? But not really, because this Elizabeth was so much older, so much different... "Does this advice come from personal experience?" she asked quietly.
The older Elizabeth smiled gently. "In a way. I bent the laws of time, space and Starfleet to get back to that captain's chair sometimes, and it very rarely had anything to do with logic."
"Atlantis is supposed to be scuttled," Elizabeth said quietly. "There's no chair to sit in."
That provoked another chuckle. "Don't tell Jonn that." When Elizabeth only blinked at her, the older woman's smile slipped, and she sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm getting off topic. My point is-starships can be rebuilt. And the chair is a metaphor anyway. All that matters is...is that you are in a place that you need just as much as it needs you. And that you don't ever apologize for it. We do not make a good martyr, in any timeline."
"And you?" Elizabeth asked-knowing each other well went both ways, it seemed. "What is it that you need?"
The old woman laughed a bit. "I, as a matter of fact, am taking up a position in the Vulcan relief project." When Elizabeth just raised an eyebrow at her, she elaborated, "It's too tempting to hang around Starfleet-too many things I might let slip. Too many reminders...and anyway, I already had all my adventures." The smile finally touched her eyes. "And you and I together get the unique distinction of being in two places at once."
Elizabeth found a smile tugging at her own mouth, to her surprise. "I suppose I can keep you posted," she said, unsure if she had really even made a decision yet. "If you do me the same favor."
But her older self just shook her head. "No. Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, but-it's your life now, Elizabeth. Not even I can tell you what to do with it."
Too tempting, of course. Elizabeth nodded. "All right," she said, as if saying could make it so, as if announcing it with enough authority would force her thoughts to obey. "All right. Thank you...Elizabeth."
"Strange, isn't it?" she replied with good humor. "With any luck we'll get used to it in the end."
Elizabeth nodded, and for the first time in a long time, raised her hand in the old, familiar farewell. "Live long and prosper, Ms. Weir."
She replied with one raised eyebrow. "Peace and long life, Captain." Then she adjusted her hood, and disappeared back into the rain.
-\-\-\-\-\-
She'd been told to report to the embarkation room, except there technically was no embarkation room on any of the maps of Clarke Station-all signs lead to the gate room, and until she actually found it Elizabeth wasn't entirely certain they were the same thing. It said something about the program here, that they already had their own nomenclature, their own subculture of quirks-starships developed that, over time, after a five-year deployment or two, but this was Earth's own backyard, for all they spent their time far away from it. She knew people within the Federation Council who considered it a problem; she wondered if Starfleet Command did.
She wondered if it was going to be a problem for her, when she was so much further away.
She dodged out of the way of an antigrav loaded with odd-sized boxes, half-turned to let a row of petty officers past-her backpack was loaded down with personal items, the precious few they'd be allowed to bring in this first rushed jump, and who knew when they'd next be able to get a starship out to Lantea? That half-turn became a full turn when someone else elbowed past in a huff-Doctor Jackson, she suspected, as he'd been in a towering snit for several days-and she found herself backing awkwardly into the gate room, praying she wouldn't trip ignominiously over something in her way.
A familiar voice boomed out over the tumult. "Captain on the deck!"
She spun around, and found herself facing row after row of salutes, all urgency very briefly put on pause. In the center of the room, a ramp lead down from the quiescent gate; at the foot of the ramp, Jonn Sheppard stood at crisp attention, and appeared to have just elbowed Rodney McKay into the same; Teyla Emmagen stood on his other side. "At ease," Elizabeth called, and just like that the room flew back into motion, except for the trio in front of the gate.
She made her way up to the ramp, where Sheppard, at least, was still only at parade rest. She never thought she'd see the day. "A pleasure to see you, Commander, Lieutenants," she said, nodding at each of them in turn.
"Ma'am," Sheppard said, straight-faced. "Glad to see you made it on time."
"Glad to see you made it here at all," she confessed. "I know this wasn't exactly the only assignment any of you were offered."
"Are you kidding?" McKay blurted with a roll of his eyes. "Where else are we gonna go?"
Teyla shot him am exasperated look. "It was the assignment that offered the greatest potential reward," she said evenly.
He huffed back at her. "This is the only assignment that was worth anything to me. Why would I want to be sitting around here proving other people's equations when there's all that-" He flapped one hand in the direction of the gate- "out there?"
"I suppose that's one way to look at it," Elizabeth said, before Teyla could shoot back a reply.
"Besides," Sheppard said with a small, enigmatic smile, "after all that trouble we went to, it kinda seemed appropriate. Almost like...fate."
Elizabeth wondered suddenly, intensely, what it was her other self had said to Jonn, what he might be hiding from her. McKay, on the other hand, just made a rude noise. "Please. There is no such thing as fate in a quantum-deterministic universe. Besides the part where I already explained about the many-worlds hypothesis-"
"Then let it not be fate," Teyla said loudly; McKay broke off his rant with a wounded look in her direction. "Let it instead be an auspicious beginning-that together, we slew monsters."
"Well, when you put it that way..." McKay muttered, averting his eyes.
Elizabeth looked at these people, her people, and realized it didn't really matter what secrets the older version of her was keeping; whatever had happened in that other future would stay there. It was as terrifying as it was liberating. "'We are not now that strength which in old days moved heaven and earth, but that which we are, we are,'" she quoted, even though it wasn't quite right, didn't quite fit-it was close enough for now.
McKay and Teyla looked a little confused, but Sheppard nodded, emphatically. "Couldn't have said it better myself."
"Let me know when we're ready to dial, Commander," she told him, letting a smile slip out-some combination of nerves and anticipation and joy. "I'll be in the control room." Elizabeth took one last chance to survey these people-her people, what a novel idea-before she fled up the steps, to wait for the moment when everything really began.
Chapter One
Chapter Sixteen