Once in a thousand years the sea/something’d the moon at my window.
He froze, wondering where the hell that had come from, but he couldn’t lie to himself. It was one of the poems he had learned in school, the last year, the year before he’d joined the army, well on his way to a commission and a life to be proud of. He’d learned two thousand lines that year, classic and modern, and been top of his draft cadre as well — and he couldn’t remember two lines correctly any more. He frowned, concentrating, the pizza forgotten in his hand.
Once in a thousand years the sea—?
No: once in a something thousand years, the sea…
“May I join you?”
Ronon blinked, looked up to see Colonel Carter standing patiently on the opposite side of the table, tray in hand. “Sure,” he said, and wondered how long she’d been standing there.
He should have risen, he thought, as she settled herself across from him. Juniors stand for their superior officers, and if he wanted to get respect from the Marines, he’d need to show it. And it wasn’t exactly hard to respect Carter.
“Thanks.” Carter busied herself with her lunch, arranging the dishes so that she could put the tray aside. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
“Oh?”
“Yep.” Carter smiled, and Ronon wondered if the laconic echo was deliberate. “I have a proposition for you.”
This was the moment he’d been expecting and dreading, the one he’d been rehearsing for when he couldn’t sleep, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Atlantis isn’t going anywhere,” Carter said. Her voice was gentle, regretful, even, but very definite. “The Hammond, on the other hand, is going back to Pegasus before the end of the year. I’d like to have you on my team.”
Ronon took a deep breath. He was still holding the pizza, he realized, and set it aside with a grimace, wiping his hand on his pants. “To do what? Not that I don’t appreciate the offer, Colonel Carter, but I’m not a scientist. I’m not even a soldier, by your reckoning. I’m muscle, and that—” He looked deliberately past her, toward the group of young Marines clattering into the mess hall. “That you’ve got plenty of.”
“We’ll pass on my reckoning for now,” Carter said. She paused. “Can I ask you a question?”
Ronon shrugged, though he could feel his hackles rising. “Sure.”
“What did you do before the military?”
If he hadn’t been thinking about it already, he probably wouldn’t have answered, but the fragment of poetry had loosened something in him. “I was a kid. In school.”
“Me, too.” Something like a smile flickered across Carter’s face. “What did you study? Was it a military prep course, or regular school?”
Ronon looked at his hands, at the tattoo patterning his left wrist, gift of a dead man, a dead traitor. He should keep his mouth shut, but not to answer — it would be disrespect, and, anyway, it was something he’d been proud of once. “It was an exam school. Not just military, though the kids who were planning to join up were encouraged to apply. I passed in on both exams, graduated Third Scholar. I was supposed to get my commission after I’d done my required service.” He shrugged again. “The Wraith got there first.”
“That’s impressive,” Carter said.
Ronon searched the open face for some hint of irony, and found none.
“But it doesn’t surprise me,” she went on. “I figured as much from working with you on Atlantis. Look, I’m not asking you to join the team because I need more muscle. You’re right, I’ve got more than enough of that. And I’m not asking you out of pity. If you want to go back to Pegasus, you can come with us, no strings attached. I’m asking you because you’re a damn good man, a damn good leader. I watched you training our Marines, teaching them to deal with the Wraith, with the Genii — not just tactics, but how they think, what makes them tick. That’s what I want you for.”
“I’m not officer material,” Ronon said. “Not any more.”
“You were,” Carter answered. “If Sateda hadn’t been attacked, you’d be one now. You’d be a commander — if you were one of mine, you’d be fast-tracked for promotion.” She paused. “You can still be that man.”
Ronon sat very still. He had not imagined this was something he still wanted, not until it was put into words, spoken out loud for everyone to hear. He made himself take a breath, and then another, concentrating on the movement of his ribs, the pull of the muscles, the hint of salt that carried through some open door. She was right, he would have been a captain, at least — husband and father, too, that thought like a knife to the heart. “That man is dead.”
“Is he?” Carter waited.
“I—” Ronon looked away from her implacable stare. “I don’t know.”
“Find out,” she said, gently.
“I can’t join your army,” Ronon said, but it was token protest, and they both knew it.
“No. You’d be an independent contractor, working for the Air Force.” She smiled, as though at some private joke. “A technical adviser.”
Once in a thousand years the sea/ smothers the moon at my window/ opens a gate in my heart: the triplet came suddenly complete in his head, and with it the face of the poet who’d written it. Not a classic, or even an accepted modern, but a university poet, bright and beautiful and dead…
“When Sateda fell,” he said abruptly, “Kell — our local commander — threw everybody he had against the Wraith. Regulars, Guard, Elites, the neighborhood volunteer squads and the firemen and the poets’ battalion from the university. All to buy time to get himself to safety.” He closed his eyes for an instant, but made himself go on. “I bribed one of his subcommanders to get my—” There wasn’t a word that translated exactly; he chose one he thought had the right resonances. “—my fiancée onto his staff anyway, to get her out. She wouldn’t go. But that’s the choice I made.”
Carter regarded him gravely. “I hope to offer you better choices.”
“Not always possible,” Ronon answered, but the ache in his chest had eased.
“No.” Carter gave him a rueful smile. “But one can try.”
“I’ll try the Hammond,” Ronon said. He stood up, reached for his tray. “Short contract, no strings? If it works out for both of us — I’ll stay.”
“Fair enough,” Carter answered, and turned her attention back to her food.
Ronon turned away, the tray balanced in one hand. Beyond the windows, a fogbank was moving across the water, the pillars of the great red bridge standing high above the cloud. It was a better choice than he’d expected, a chance to go back and fight the Wraith, to help other people fight the Wraith. It would do for now.
Jennifer glanced around the infirmary, seeing the gaps where equipment had been removed, the strange faces replacing her usual team. It was all part of the transition, especially now that Atlantis wasn’t going anywhere, but she still didn’t have to like it. Particularly since she couldn’t seem to convince the military people not to turn off the Ancient equipment unless they had the Ancient gene themselves and could turn it back on again.
She glared at the blank screen, not even bothering to run her hand over the touchplate. Up until a few days ago, Rodney had been going out of his way to take care of things for her — mostly, he said, because he didn’t have anything else to do — but since he’d resigned, there were fewer options available. No one in sight had the gene, except maybe the Air Force captain — he was new — but she wasn’t about to admit to him that she needed help. Not all of the military sneered at civilians, sneered at her, but she’d seen enough of it since they’d landed that she wasn’t about to give them any opportunities.