“I haven’t got it,” O’Neill said frankly. “And if I get it, you can’t have it. The Ori may be out of the picture, but if there’s one thing I know, it’s that there’s always going to be another bad guy. You can have what I can spare, but it says ‘Homeworld Security’ on my door for a reason.”
“I don’t think any of the other member governments of the IOA are any more eager to provide us with what we’d need to win the war singlehandedly, assuming that’s even possible. We need allies in the Pegasus Galaxy, and the Genii are the strongest and most organized force fighting the Wraith.”
“Go on,” O’Neill said, a little more patiently.
“The Genii found the ship in the first place. I think it’s reasonable to say that they had salvage rights. Sheppard did them the favor of flying it in hopes of gaining valuable information, which I will grant you that they turned out not to have. But the ship was never ours.”
“That’s a reasonable argument,” O’Neill said. “I’m not sure the IOA’s going to buy it.”
“Neither am I,” Dick said.
“Nechayev agrees with you about making friends with the Genii,” O’Neill said. “He’s an old soldier, and he’s been around the block too many times to think it’s a good idea to piss off the locals.”
“He may be the only one,” Dick said.
“Dixon-Smythe’s got a stick up her ass. She doesn’t care what happens in Pegasus, because nobody there is British. Shen’s after your job, so you’ll get no love there. Desai might be worth working on. The President hasn’t decided who the new American representative is supposed to be, so that should be interesting.”
“You expect they’ll want you to testify?”
“I expect they will. And you know I just love testifying.”
“What are you planning to say?”
O’Neill ran a hand through his hair. “I would have backed you up all the way on the rescue if it had actually worked,” he said. “Did you have to get the Hammond shot up while the paint was still new? Carter likes that ship.”
“Carter and Sheppard both felt that the mission had a strong chance of succeeding, and that it was the best chance we were likely to get,” Dick said. “You know I’m no tactician. I took their advice.”
“Tell Sheppard not to blow the mission next time,” O’Neill said. “If you’d tried to blame the screw-up with the Genii on him, I’d have said you could go hang, but he’s the one who’s supposed to do the impossible in the field.”
“Doing the impossible isn’t actually a job requirement, is it?”
O’Neill gave him a long look. “Not technically,” he said. “In actual practice, you’d be surprised.”
“Maybe not all that surprised,” Dick said.
“Things look a little different from the other side of that table, don’t they?”
“They do,” Dick said. “For what it’s worth, I wish I’d understood then what it felt like to have to make these decisions. And at the same time, I am still very aware that we don’t have unlimited resources to put into anything. We have to make choices.”
“I have to make choices,” O’Neill said. “They’re not always ones I like. Funny thing, you defeat the Ori, and suddenly people start talking about peacetime dividends and budget cuts. You’d think they’d want to get us something nice.”
“Maybe a fruit basket,” Dick said.
“That would be nice.”
“Backing me up to the IOA is free.”
“You know better than that,” O’Neill said. “But I think you had the right general idea. Some of the details could have maybe used some work.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“So what are you planning to do now?” O’Neill said.
“I was thinking I’d just go back to my hotel and order room service,” Dick said. “It’s been a long day.”
O’Neill just looked at him. “I mean about McKay.”
“Yes, right. Well, obviously we need to find him. Again.”
“Why don’t you think about coming up with some more specific plans?”
“For when I go back to Atlantis?” He couldn’t keep the skepticism out of his voice.
“You never know,” O’Neill said. “They haven’t made any decisions yet. This party’s just getting started.”
“You know, I’m beginning to understand why they call it an exhaustive review,” Dick said.
O’Neill snorted. “Tell me about it.”
Chapter Eleven
Down Time
Radek looked down at his empty plate, all too aware that this was the first time since the attack that he had had anything approaching a normal day. A day that began with a shower and a shave, and ended with dinner — admittedly one that included tava beans, but that counted as ordinary now — and in which no one had actually shot at anyone. He was still dead tired, and, more to the point, despite spending the day directing teams to search the city, they were no closer to finding enough titanium to make a workable mechanical iris, but at least no one had died.
And it would not help to worry about that tonight. Keeping the gate open was working, would prevent a Wraith attack until they could get an iris built. It would be enough. He sighed, unable to convince himself that it would be that simple, and took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. Without them, the mess hall was a blur, oddly comforting, and he closed his eyes, imagining that his fears were a small bundle, one he could hold in both hands, compress and mold until they were a little ball that he could lock away, seal up tight in a special box with a special key —
It wasn’t really working. He sighed, and slipped his glasses back on. He had felt this way often enough the first year, but then there had been Peter Grodin to keep him company, to talk him out of these moods, or stay awake with him when they were both too tired to sleep.
“Dr. Zelenka?”
He didn’t recognize the voice, looked up to see an Air Force sergeant, a stocky dark-skinned woman with a cardboard box tucked under her arm. For a second, he hoped she had found something useful, but common sense reasserted itself. That news would have been broadcast all over the city, not brought to him personally. “Yes?”
“I’m Clea Dockery. I was a friend of Taggert’s.”
Radek winced in spite of himself, but she pretended not to notice.
“Tag and I had a little — we’ve been doing some off-duty experimentation down under the south pier? Strictly under the radar, doc, I know you understand, but — ” Dockery reached into the box, and produced what looked like a specimen jar half-filled with a colorless liquid. “I wanted to share out the first run with her friends.”
“A still,” Radek said.
Dockery looked hastily over her shoulder. “Yeah. But, you know, we have to keep it quiet — ”
“Yes. I understand.” Radek looked from the jar to Dockery and away again. “I did not know her so well,” he said, quietly. “Perhaps you should save it for those who were closer. I did not even know her first name.”
Dockery grinned. “That’s ‘cause she didn’t tell anybody. It’s — it was Debbi, two Bs and an I, and her mama would’ve put a little heart over the I if they’d let her do it on the birth certificate.”
Radek smiled back — no, that did not suit Taggert at all — and Dockery set the jar on the table.
“She liked Atlantis, liked working for you, liked being on your shift. She’d want you to have it.”
“Thank you, then,” Radek said. He unscrewed the lid, took a cautious sip, blinking as the stuff burned its way down his throat. It tasted like nothing he’d ever had — well, perhaps home-brewed grappa he’d had once, and this had to be even stronger, though it was not the alcohol that brought the tears to his eyes. “She was good,” he said. “I’ll miss her.”