“Are you dead?” He didn’t want to ask, but some part of him had to.
There was that smile again, secret and rueful. “Why don’t you ask Dr. Jackson about that?”
“Who’s he?” He felt he ought to know, but the memories ran away from him like droplets of water through his hands.
“Walk through the gate and see.” Her voice was gentle, but also steel.
Quicksilver looked toward the gate, cold blue light flooding over him, and yet he could not take a single step. It faded as he woke.
He worked in the laboratory later that day, bending his head over the datapad, trying to make sense of things that should have been easy, and anger welled up in him. How could they have taken this from him, these Lanteans? Was it not enough to hurt him, to break his body in a thousand ways? How could they have taken from him his mind as well? What if he could never relearn it? What if it never again became easy?
Dust had named him the cleverest of clevermen, and he knew that was true. He was the smartest. Without that he was nothing. Without the quicksilver grace of his intellect, how should he be worth anything to anyone? He would be worth nothing to himself.
There was a stir at the door, and one of the blades he had sometimes seen in the gaming room came in, his midnight blue leathers ornamented with jet, and spoke to Dust in low tones. “We have had word from one of our worshippers with the Genii,” he said. “And as you can imagine it is a matter of great concern, worth a very carefully placed operative.”
Dust straightened. “You have come from the Queen?”
“Just,” the blade said, “And she is disturbed.”
“What is the nature of it?” Dust asked, casting a quick glance around the room. Quicksilver bent his head, blinking as if he made little sense of their words.
“She Who Carries Many Things has returned,” the blade said. “With a new warship, one that is said to be deadlier than any before. She and her Consort were with the Genii, meeting in secret, and all is well between them. He took nothing on himself, and seemed to have many marks of her favor, so any hope of a falling out there is nothing but hope.”
“She and her Consort both?” Dust shook his head, and worry was evident in every line of his face. “That is ill news indeed. What can the Lanteans be up to?”
The other blade might have spoken, but Quicksilver broke in. “Is there no way to probe my mind for the information you seek? I am sure I know the gate address to Atlantis! If it is that the Queen is concerned about hurting me, I beg you to think no more of that! I would gladly suffer whatever is necessary to help!”
Dust came round the table to him, and put his hand to Quicksilver’s cheek in affection. “My brother, I know that you are brave and that you would like to help, but there is nothing that can be done. Your mind is so damaged that even the Queen can reap nothing from it. We have only to hope that as you heal you may remember. Give yourself time, and tell me of each thing that comes to you, for even the smallest thing may hold a clue, no matter how unimportant it may seem.”
Quicksilver nodded. “I will do that,” he said eagerly. “And perhaps if I try very hard to remember, I shall find more. Perhaps, if he disregarded the words of that queen he dreamed, he could find the information that hung just out of reach.
Chapter Thirty: Interference
The door signal to his quarters jolted John awake. He had a moment of disorientation, the gray light from the windows making it hard to remember what time it was. By the time he decided it was early evening, he was already up and at the door, trying not to resent being woken up at a time when he shouldn't actually have been asleep. Torren was the only one in Atlantis anyone would expect to be in bed at seven.
Here is the thing, Ronon said without preliminaries, leaning in the door as it opened. Zelenka's a bad shot because he can't see well enough. He won't go see Jennifer about it because he thinks if he fails the eye test, Woolsey will send him home, Ronon said.
That's a problem, John said, shaking his head to try to clear it. He always hated getting the scientists shot at, and it helped if they were at least armed and able to shoot back.
I thought maybe if you talked to her.
Yeah, maybe, John said. You know Keller, though, she plays things by the book. If we still had Carson…
We do still have Carson.
It was tempting to take this to Carson, but John was pretty sure that Carson couldn't sneak this by under Keller's nose in her own infirmary, especially when it would mean borrowing whatever equipment he needed for an eye exam. I'll work something out.
Ronon looked a little skeptical. So you're going to talk to her.
I'm going to work something out, John said. Trust me.
He headed out to the pier where the George Hammond was docked instead of down to the infirmary. It wasn't a pleasant stroll in the evening with snow whipping across the pier, although apparently someone had been out long enough that afternoon to build a snowman that was now guarding the Hammond at icy attention.
He found Sam in the Hammond's galley, nursing a cup of coffee. She waved him to a seat and pushed the paperwork she's been reading aside. What can I do for you, Sheppard?
I was wondering if I could get someone on your medical staff to do an eye exam for Zelenka, he said. It's probably no big deal, but just in case there is something that might be a problem according to the letter of the rules.
Well, okay, Sam said. I think Dr. Keller could do that, though.
Well, then it's official, and if she doesn't put it in her paperwork, she could get in trouble. If it's just one of your people taking a look when they are off duty, though.
Yes, all right, Sam said. I can arrange that. You owe me, though.
Absolutely, John said, with his most charming smile. He figured that ought to take care of it. There might not be any problem after all, but better safe than sorry.
The morning briefing for the new military personnel on Ancient weapons technology was easy to do pretty much on auto-pilot, because it really boiled down to have some drones and some weird devices that we don't know what to do with, and that are equally likely to be actual weapons and to be things that we're just using in all the ways it says not to on the warning label. The fun part would be getting to actually play with the drones, which would be a later and much smaller training session.
John was thinking hopefully of coffee when his radio headset sounded.
Colonel Sheppard, Jennifer said. Could you stop by when you have a moment? There are something we need to talk about.
He considered getting the coffee first, I'll be right there, he said instead. It was never a good thing when a doctor said there was something you needed to talk about. It probably wasn't about him, unless he managed to contract a deadly disease in the last couple of weeks, but if one of his people had managed to wind up in the infirmary with something embarrassing and contagious, or, worse, something that suggested serious mental health issues, it was going to be his problem.
He was not really in the mood to deal with either contracted a social disease while the rest of us were trying to get some work done or probably crazy. Of course, Jennifer wouldn't put it that way. She talk about PTSD and the pressure everyone was under, and he nod and agree that of course whoever it was needed to go home. Or maybe send them over to Dr. Robinson, and let her find fancier words for couldn't put up enough of a good front.
John was beginning to think he should have fortified himself with coffee first, but it was too late now that he was almost at the infirmary doors. He squared his shoulders and walked in, looking around to see who was here and what they've done to themselves.