“Oh, absolutely,” scoffed Rodney. “As long as no one’s bothered by the fine print that forbids any use of technology.”
Elizabeth regarded him without speaking for a moment. It was difficult to determine what had their chief scientist more riled up: the fact that they’d found nothing on the planet that would aid them, or the existence of this theocratic culture.
If the mission had been merely unsuccessful, that would have been one thing. The tension radiating from the members of her flagship team, however, made it clear that there were other issues to be confronted. When she’d seen them in the jumper bay upon their return, John had been the only one to meet her gaze. Ford had been busy with their injured ward, while Teyla and Rodney had avoided looking at her or each other. There was a distinct frost over the group, and Elizabeth was troubled by the idea that she couldn’t yet understand it, much less resolve it.
Aloud, however, she simply said, “While I can see your point, Rodney, I think it’s best under circumstances like these to consider our primary mandate.”
“Oh? And which one would that be? The need to acquire the technology to save Earth from the Goa’uld? Locate ZPMs in order to reestablish contact with Earth? Or, and this is my personal favorite, find some way to defend ourselves from the all-but-inevitable Wraith attack?”
“I thought your personal favorite was locating a planet with a stash of coffee beans,” muttered Lieutenant Ford.
Despite herself, and the strain in the briefing room, Elizabeth was unable to choke back a laugh. It abruptly turned into a wracking cough. Not that that was enough to faze Rodney. The scientist immediately clutched his lidded coffee mug and pulled it close.
“Don’t panic, Rodney,” John smirked. “No one’s about to steal your precious—”
“And now we’re back to the insults, which are both mean-spirited and immaterial to the issue at hand.” Rodney spun his chair to face Elizabeth. “By standing idly by and allowing this religious elitist farce to continue, we’re washing our hands of an entire civilization. This bunch of self-styled fanatics will continue to subjugate the masses until they’ve led the whole planet into their own version of the Apocalypse. Maybe I’m fuzzy on the details, but didn’t we used to be champions of the downtrodden?”
He’d said ‘we’, but Elizabeth knew the remark had been directed at her. Although she was accustomed to hearing that tone from him, the object of his ire was a surprise. Overpowering concern for the well-being of strangers seemed uncharacteristic for the Rodney McKay that she thought she knew. Then she remembered the way he’d stepped between her and Kolya’s gun just days ago and revised her opinion. The storm had brought to light hidden attributes in all of them. Still, there was no getting around the facts of the current situation. They were hardly in a position to help themselves, much less others.
“Dr McKay,” Teyla said in cool tones, “did not Kesun say that Lisera’s return will encourage all Dalerans to embrace their ancient traditions?”
“Including testing the general population for the gene, and marrying outside of the Chosen,” John finished.
“Oh, and we’re meant to believe that exclusive club of octogenarian zealots is really going to let him shake everything up?”
“Kesun’s only one of a handful of Chosen who are even capable of leaving their Enclave,” said John. “It’s not exactly like they have radios, television, or even servants to inform their retirees of what’s going on out in the real world.”
“From what we saw it was pretty low tech,” Ford added. “But then so are a lot of other places we’ve visited. Most of the people looked to be in reasonable shape. Except Lisera. But she’d been on the run since her family was culled.”
“The markets were filled with many, many items for trade,” Teyla added. “More than I have seen on most planets. And their apothecary was well-stocked.”
“So their economy is operating well,” mused Elizabeth. “That’s always a good sign.”
John wrinkled his nose. “Something doesn’t smell right, though.”
“Boring,” snapped Rodney. “Joke’s worn thin.”
“Not you. I meant the setup as well as the sewerage. It was more of a deep, ingrained stench than your average busted sewer pipe and musty ancient stone smell.”
“You’re missing the point entirely — all of you!” Rodney sat forward. “These people are in a unique position. With the Shields, they have the capacity to defend against the Wraith — if they’re administered gene therapy. Without it, they’re as good as dead. Given how rare the gene is on Earth, testing everyone in Dalera is unlikely to turn up more than one or two in the entire population. To properly defend the Citadel and even a fraction of those villages beyond, they’re going to need at least a hundred.”
Elizabeth frowned at Rodney. She wasn’t pleased that he’d offered the gene therapy to their new acquaintances in the first place. What should have been a moot point following the Dalerans’ refusal, however, was rapidly turning into a kind of crusade for the scientist. She just wasn’t certain what had triggered it. His not finding a ZPM on the planet was likely contributing to his overall frustration. Or perhaps it was simply that he needed to believe that the Wraith could be thwarted. If that were the case, she could hardly blame him.
“I understand your feelings on this, Rodney, but Atlantis is simply not in a position to go barging in and impose our system of values on other cultures. I agree with you that the situation is not ideal, and I agree with the idea of introducing low-tech items in order for people to get to the transports or directly to the Citadel faster. Bicycles, for example.”
“Personally, I’d vote for skateboards.” John slouched low in his chair and flashed a grin, briefly resembling a teenager.
“Brilliant.” Rodney had apparently redirected his irritation into dismantling the ideas of others. “And exactly how would they go about using a skateboard in the middle of a plowed field or forest?”
John feigned pondering the question and quirked an eyebrow. “Mountain skateboards?”
It was an obvious attempt to lighten the tension in the room, and Elizabeth appreciated it, but Rodney had gone beyond seeing the humor in anything. Snapping his mouth shut into a thin, bitter line, he crossed his arms and stared at some fascinating point on the ceiling, impatiently waiting for the meeting to end.
“All right,” she said, choosing to cut her losses. “For the moment let’s focus on a trade deal, food in exchange for improving the Dalerans’ method of transport. It’ll give some of the engineers a break from making repairs to the city. Let’s see what we can come up with before your next arranged meeting time on the planet.”
Rodney was the first to exit the briefing room, brushing past the swiveling wall panels while they were still in motion. Elizabeth stayed in place as the others streamed out, reaching for the box of tissues she’d taken to carrying around.
Whatever unglamorous sound she made with the tissue must have caught her military advisor’s attention, because he remained behind. “You’re looking pretty far under the weather,” he observed, concern shading his features. “Somebody bring some Pegasus germs back through the ‘gate?”
“That’s Carson’s best guess. If I ever find out who it was, I’ll put him or her on mess hall duty indefinitely.” She attempted a faint smile.
It didn’t fool him. John folded his arms and half-leaned, half-sat on the edge of the table near her. “If there’s stuff you need to hash out, I’d like to think I could be a reasonable sounding board.”
The offer would have felt less awkward had he not been studying the floor when he made it. Even so, Elizabeth was grateful. Moreover, he was right. There weren’t many people on Atlantis with whom she could engage in any kind of personal conversation. John Sheppard, whether by position or character, was one of the few.
“I’m not indifferent to the Dalerans’ situation,” she began, swiping at her reddened eyes with a second tissue.