“When I was a child,” Kesun continued, “the Great Plague befell us. While it killed many, it struck most deeply at the Chosen until only a few remained.”
Nothing like several dozen generations of inbreeding to genetically predispose a population to disease. The only surprise was that the population of self-styled Chosen hadn’t crashed centuries earlier. Realizing that the only way they were going to get out of here in any kind of hurry was by offering up a solution, Rodney said, “If you want to restore your numbers, then you’ll have to rescind this moratorium. On marriage as well as touching the Shields. You need some sort of nationwide testing. And you need it now.” That had come out sounding a lot like an ultimatum, he realized belatedly as the Major shot an exasperated glance in his direction.
Kesun looked at him curiously. “It is different among your people? There are no divisions between Chosen and others?”
Launching into a detailed civil rights lecture wasn’t high on Rodney’s to-do list, and neither was explaining the fact that almost no one on Earth knew or cared about the ATA gene. Therefore, he went for a simple if incomplete answer. “None. And I might add that the Chosen here owe their very existence to the fact that Dalera herself had offspring to someone outside of her kind.” This time, he was rethinking the wisdom of the glib reply almost before it was out.
Beside him, Sheppard coughed. If the Major didn’t read him the riot act on the ride home, Elizabeth certainly would during the debriefing. Tough. They’d wanted help. He’d given them the only viable answer. Besides, Kesun didn’t appear to have taken offense. If anything, his interest seemed tweaked. “As you say,” he replied. “These are things to consider.”
“Fine, fine. Well, now that’s settled,” Rodney muttered, easing toward the transport.
Unfortunately, Sheppard didn’t appear to be in any hurry to leave. “Something I don’t get,” he said. “Since the Chosen are now so few in number, don’t the villagers know that they can’t depend on you showing up in the transports?”
Brows furrowing in alarm, Kesun replied, “Even the most righteous among them blaspheme, which is what brought the Great Plague and the Wraith upon us all. Their faith must be restored before the Chosen can protect them.”
Oh, this was just fantastic. “They don’t know that most of the Chosen are dead, do they?” Rodney snapped.
“It is a question of faith!” Kesun almost hissed between his teeth. Visibly taking control of himself, he lifted his chin haughtily and added, “Your arrival will give them that faith.”
Before Rodney could launch into another tirade, Sheppard stepped in with a healthy dose of reality. “Unfortunately, that won’t resolve the immediate problem.”
True. The old geezers could each grab themselves a dozen wives tomorrow, but even supposing the act alone didn’t give most of them a massive coronary, the Wraith weren’t likely to postpone their culling until the Chosen offspring arrived to save the day. As a scientist, he was trained to investigate all possible avenues. Realistically, that only left one solution. “The gene therapy.”
Sheppard rounded on him, his eyebrows reaching up into his hairline. “You want to run that by me again?”
“It’s an immediate solution.” Rodney didn’t add that it would effectively eliminate this hierarchical mess they’d gotten themselves into. “I don’t see a downside to it.”
“Other than the near-certainty of Dr Weir kicking our asses for offering something like this without consulting her?”
“I’m not offering it to them. I’m simply pointing out the only viable way out of their predicament. And presumably the reason that we’re still standing here having this discussion is that you’d rather not leave them to be Wraith chow.”
“Of what do you speak?” Kesun wanted to know.
Rodney turned toward him, but once again, the Major beat him to the punch, which was becoming more than annoying. “We have a way of giving a person a…medicine,” Sheppard said, caution evident in his tone. “It would allow more people to operate the Shields.”
Since Sheppard had insisted on dragging him into this otherwise futile discussion, he’d be damned if he’d see any proposed solution only shift their grand pecking order somewhat. “Many more,” Rodney added purposefully.
If they’d been looking for a way to finally crack the Chosen’s seemingly infinite patience, this might have been the silver bullet. Kesun’s eyes grew huge, and he opened and closed his mouth several times before finding his voice. “This cannot be,” he sputtered. “The Chosen are granted favor by Dalera herself. We cannot interfere with her will!”
“Genetics don’t depend on anyone’s will,” Rodney argued. “That’s the whole point of the term ‘random selection.’”
Sheppard had been leaning against the wall, but now pushed himself off from it to stand upright. “Listen, Kesun, as Dr McKay said, we’re just pointing out the options. The…medicine doesn’t work on everyone, so maybe Dalera’s still having her say that way.” A glance in Rodney’s direction dared him to protest at his own risk.
Doubt verging on panic was written clearly across Kesun’s features. “Barbarians have no respect for Dalera’s ways. What would become of us if they were made Chosen?”
“You could try working for a living.” And that was a bad idea, too, because the man’s once-pale skin now turned an entertaining shade of reddish-purple.
“Your lack of reverence is greatly disturbing to me, Dr McKay,” he admonished. “I had expected better from the citizens of Atlantis.”
“I apologize,” Sheppard said immediately, adjusting his stance to something approximating attention. “This is my team. I should have better control of it.”
What the hell? Rodney had never seen the Major even attempt to pull rank on him before. What was the point, since he didn’t even have a rank? He turned an indignant gape on Sheppard, only to be met with a coldly imperious stare.
The melodrama had an effect on Kesun, though. He nodded, albeit stiffly. “I must confer with the others.”
“We understand,” Sheppard replied. “Should we wait here?”
“Please.” With a final, scornful look in Rodney’s direction, the Chosen turned on his heel and strode back into the main chamber.
Sheppard crossed his arms and regarded Rodney, the fierce demeanor fading into annoyance. “Rodney,” he said dryly. “I can’t tell you how warm and fuzzy it feels to know how highly you value my opinion.”
Well and truly incensed by the way he’d just been treated, Rodney snapped, “Your opinion?”
“That whole ‘work and play well with others’ pep talk from the balcony? Ring any bells?”
“I appreciate the complexity of the situation, but since you insist on wanting to help out here, there’s a limit to how much of this divine-will crap I can swallow. These people will be sitting ducks for the Wraith if someone in this place doesn’t open up their mind just a fraction.” Rodney could accept a certain amount of that nonsense from the others, but from a trusted colleague? He didn’t see the need to go quietly. “And while we’re on the subject of working and playing well with others, what precisely was that little display about? You should have better control of your team? If your goal was to sound just as superior as they do, fantastic job!”
“Thank you,” Sheppard replied amiably.
Rodney halted, confused. Then he got it. He’d only paid the barest amount of attention in his intro sociology class in college, but the old ‘When in Rome’ axiom seemed to apply here. He blew out a long breath. “You can’t honestly think I’m wrong about this.”
“I didn’t say that.” Sheppard’s gaze was hard to decipher. Not that Rodney had ever been an expert at reading people, but this man seemed to have a singular talent for inscrutability. “We’re already crossing about six different lines that probably shouldn’t be crossed, but we’re here now, so let’s see how they respond.”