As she took a moment to process that information, she realized something else, just as interesting: she was having difficulty assessing Daniel Jackson. Before now she hadn't really tried, but even a concerted effort got her nowhere. He seemed to carry an aura that rendered his mind impermeable. As if…
It hit her. Taking the offensive, she said, "You were Ascended, weren't you?"
His expression flickered briefly but settled on cool curiosity. "What makes you think that?"
"John mentioned a couple of the SGC personnel had `dipped their toes in that pool.' You seem to be the most likely candidate. So…?"
He shrugged with practiced nonchalance and kept walking. "Once or twice. Didn't really take to it."
"No, that's not it at all." It was a stab in the dark, but one based more on good old-fashioned psychology than any natural insight she might have. "You couldn't turn your back on humanity."
And suddenly, she felt her burden lessen ever so slightly. If there existed a definition of what it was to be human, that was it.
Jackson appeared taken aback by her remark until she continued, "You've very neatly defined the difference between the Lilith and the Ninlil. The ritualized removal of organs by the Lilith has been bugging me, but I think it's further proof that they're on the wrong track-that they've entirely misinterpreted the intent of the Ancient who created them and have instead evolved a set of behaviors peculiar to them. Once again, it doesn't matter what's real and what isn't; they're acting on what they choose to believe."
"I thought we'd already established that." He continued to look at her in a way that made her wonder if all her thoughts were on display for him to see. It was something she was accustomed to doing to other people; she'd never been on the other side of it before. To say it was disconcerting would have been a grave understatement.
She shook it off as they entered the briefing room. "You formulated a solid theory, Dr. Jackson, one I happen to agree with. This facet of their behavior provides proof." Catching a glimpse of the wormhole shutting down, she walked across to the window, speaking as she went. "The Watchers are the equivalent of high priests, and the first generation cambion must act similarly to those John described as hive keepers." The gate immediately began to dial again.
"That's what we think, too."
Rebecca turned to see General Landry, wearing a genial expression that told her more about the faith he had in his people than the man himself.
"We've just had further word from Germany," he added, coming up beside her to watch the chevrons lock into place. "The Army's Fifth Corps just arrived to secure the caves. They passed what they estimated to be about forty desiccated bodies in a group by the road, including the eight policemen who'd been patrolling the cave entrance. No symbols and no organs removed this time. I think it's obvious that we're no longer dealing with a handful of zealots."
Rebecca felt a new level of tension coil around her spine. "Abandoning their rituals is a signal that they believe such rituals are no longer necessary."
Daniel also moved to stand next to her at the window. "Which means they've found what they've been looking for."
"I think you're right, Dr. Jackson. This is the beginning of an outright war-one they're determined to wage whether the On are dead or not, because they want what was promised to them."
"And what would that be?" Landry asked.
The now familiar boiling cauldron shot out from the gate and settled with disarming speed into a rippling tranquil pool. On the other side, Rebecca knew, was the Pegasus Galaxy, teasing her with its proximity, urging her to run down to the wormhole and make her way home. She blinked away that distraction and replied, "Dominion over the human race."
Chapter twenty-three
"Ow! Damn it, Ronon, this kind of activity offers what we Earth natives call a `hostile work environment.' Back home it's illegal to intentionally put coworkers into hazardous situations."
Ronon kept his face completely impassive, knowing it would aggravate Rodney all the more. "So?"
"So I-" Rodney's complaint ended sharply as he scuttled forward to avoid the wave that slapped against the pier behind him. As soon as he came within range, Ronon reached out and easily knocked the practice weapon out of his hand. "Ow! For the love of- Is this really necessary?"
"I didn't drag you out here." Ronon retrieved the wooden staff and handed it back.
"Yes, but neither did you mention the downpour or the fact that the pier gets extremely slippery when wet." Rodney wiped a sleeve across his face to clear the rain from his eyes. From the looks of it, the action made no difference.
`Downpour' was an obvious exaggeration. A light shower was falling on Atlantis, offering pleasantly cool conditions in trade for a slicker surface underfoot. The added challenge was good; it would keep their wits about them.
Ronon had chosen the location, and not by accident. This section of the lower pier was just wide enough for a handto-hand match. If Rodney backed up too far, he'd end up in the water-again. It wasn't a mistake the scientist was likely to make twice, considering how much he'd squawked when Ronon had to haul him out the first time they'd sparred. The man's later attempt to fight while wearing a floatation jacket had been a useless, ridiculous exercise, so there was now a life preserver and towline hanging from a nearby railing. A hundred yards away, two Marine squads were training with rappelling harnesses on the northeast tower, prepared to practice their water rescue skills on Rodney if needed.
"This is reality," Ronon told him, tying back his damp hair. "When you meet an adversary on a mission, it won't always be on a sunny day."
"When I meet an adversary on a mission, I'll either dazzle him with my grasp of Laplace transform functions or shoot him. Hitting him with a stick is a distant Plan C." Despite his grousing, Rodney didn't move to end the lesson. Instead he clutched the staff in both hands and bent his knees in a reasonable imitation of a fighting stance.
Ronon said nothing as he assumed an offensive position. He'd understood some time ago that his silence was the main reason Rodney was here.
"Supposedly I need an outlet, Heightmeyer said," the scientist continued, awkwardly blocking the basic attacks Ronon slowly delivered. "A certified psychiatrist, and all she can come up with is `Get a hobby.' Actually, meditation was her first suggestion, and when I shot that down out of hand she came back with the workout idea. According to her, many physical activities have elements in common with meditation."
"She's right."
"She's not right, but I'll let it go because it's a waste of energy to argue with her. Damn it!" Rodney hurried to reclaim his staff after Ronon sent it skittering across the pier. "And she must be tag-teaming with Elizabeth, because I've essentially been ordered not to supervise any of Katie's or Geisler's current projects. Did you know I could be kicked out of my own lab? It was certainly news to me. Elizabeth restricted me from doing anything resembling useful work for twelve hours. Sleep was strongly recommended, but I never sleep for more than six hours at a time even on the rare occasions when imminent doom isn't on the agenda." He dodged Ronon's swing and nearly lost his footing. "And since Sheppard's not around to amuse me with his creative chess strategies, that leaves… whatever it is we're doing right now."
With a quick feint and a sweep of his leg, Ronon buckled Rodney's knees and forced him to sit down hard. "You're talking. I'm entertaining myself until you start paying attention long enough to learn something."
Sputtering a little as a nearby wave coated him in a fine mist of saltwater, Rodney glared up from the deck. "Fine."
Ronon grasped his hand and pulled him to his feet. "Remember what I told you the first time. Watch my eyes."