STARGATE ATLANTIS: The Furies (Book 4 in the Legacy series) (27 page)

“Yeah.” Ronon glared at the couch. “It’s name is Newton.” There were deep scratches on his left forearm, evidence of previous attempts to extract the cat. Probably some rough old mouser Keller had started feeding, mostly feral and untrusting.

Mel put down her DVD. “Let me have a try,” she said. “I’m kind of a cat person.”

“Watch it,” Ronon said, stepping back. “It goes for the eyes.”

Mel lay down on her stomach, turning her head sideways to glance under the low couch. Right in the middle, unreachable from both sides, a half grown Siamese kitten looked at her appraisingly, sitting like a tiny sphinx with its paws neatly folded.

Ok, not an old mouser. A kitten with too much energy to stay shut up all day.

“Hi Newton,” Mel said. “You about ready to come out from under there and play?”

The kitten meowed back discontentedly. Yep, a Siamese all right. Ready to talk about its woes.

Mel fished in her pocket and produced a ball point pen. “Hey Newton. Look. Shiny thing!” She wiggled it back and forth in front of Newton, just out of reach of its paws. “Shiny, shiny, shiny thing!”

Newton looked at her with an expression that stated louder than words that he was much too smart to fall for a trick like that. And then did anyway. He batted at the pen, missing as Mel pulled it back.

“Not quite. Try again.”

Four or five tries, four or five times the pen retreated, and then she had her hand on the scruff of its neck and backed out, standing up with Newton dangling from one hand. “Got him.”

Ronon looked astonished. Even more so when she grabbed him with the other hand, holding him against her chest while he chewed on the end of the pen, which didn’t turn out to taste good at all. “How’d you do that?”

“I always had cats,” Mel said. She sat down on the couch, stroking Newton’s silky fur. Sleek and healthy, the muscles in his shoulders sharply defined. Dr. Keller was taking nice care of a good cat.

Newton rolled over purring in ecstasy, displaying furry white belly to be scritched in an undignified way.

Ronon shook his head, the kind of admiration in his eyes that she’d expect for shooting something really important, or maybe kicking a guy twice her size, as she rubbed Newton’s tummy, all four sets of claws flailing in the air, some of them sticking on her flight suit cuffs as he writhed. “I figured you had guts since you were a friend of Sheppard’s.”

Mel shrugged. “Yeah, I’ve known John a long time. Since we were teenagers, actually. He’s a good guy.”

Ronon sat down on the other end of the couch, keeping a wide space between him and Newton, who he eyed suspiciously. “Was he always like this?”

“Sheppard?” Mel looked down at the purring kitten, now chewing playfully on her cuff with all four legs wrapped around her arm. She rubbed it under the chin, and it yawned, displaying a full set of nice clean needle sharp teeth. “He was a really sweet kid. A nice guy, kind of awkward.” She shook her head, remembering. “Trusting. Kind. The guy you go to when you have a problem because you know he’ll be there for you. He always had his heart on his sleeve.”

“Sheppard?”

“Yeah. Kind of a prep, but not snobby. He could have rushed, but I don’t think he cared about it. And then his dad messed his mom up over the divorce, and he had to work really hard to stay in school.” Mel stroked the cat’s little flat head. It had the long Siamese nose alright. “That’s why he joined the service. He took his mom’s part, and he had to have a way to pay for school. So no frat for him after that.” She gave Ronon a quick smile. “The detachment’s better than any frat.”

Ronon probably didn’t know what a frat was, but he nodded all the same. The concept worked, even if the exact words didn’t. “He’s not like that now.”

“Who is?” Mel shrugged. “I bet you’re not the guy you were when you were eighteen either.”

Ronon looked startled, then his face relaxed. “No,” he said.

“John said you were former military?”

Ronon nodded. “Yeah. When I was eighteen I was in my second year in examination school, getting ready to join the Immortals after the third year. I’d do three years there enlisted, then get my commission.”

“Did everybody have to do a tour as enlisted first?” Mel thought that sounded like a pretty fair idea.

“Yeah. You learn everything from the basics up. How can you command troops if you’ve never been commanded?”

“Makes sense.” Mel looked around at the lounge, at the windows opening onto night. “I’ve been in nineteen years. I might retire next summer. I don’t know.” She hadn’t said anything about it to John, or to anybody else yet. Saying it to someone Air Force would be like promising to do it.

Ronon’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t like it?”

Mel shrugged. “If I didn’t like it I wouldn’t have stayed in nineteen years. But I’ve got some other stuff I want to do in my life, stuff I’ve put on hold for a long time. I don’t see any way to do it without getting out.” The kitten purred, writhing on her lap. “For a long time the scale balanced the other way, either/or. But now it’s not.” She gently extracted a stuck claw from her flight suit. “I’ve done a lot of things that I really wanted to do, a lot of amazing things that I’ll never be able to tell anybody about. But I’ve done it. And now I’m wondering if it’s time to do something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know yet.” Mel shook her head. “I’m not sure a commercial airline job would cut it for me. I like training. I like teaching kids how to stay alive and make their kills. I like being somewhere new, dealing with different people.” She glanced up. “That’s one way John and I are just alike.”

Ronon put his head to the side. “So stay here.”

“That simple?” Mel frowned. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure the Air Force isn’t going to let me stay here if I retire.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, it’s classified all to hell,” Mel said.

Ronon shrugged. “You’ve already got security clearance, right?” He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “Look, the way I understand this contractor thing, I’m Satedan but I work for the IOA as a contractor. I do my thing, they pay me for my skills. Right?”

“That’s usually how it works, yes.”

“So why can’t you stay here and be a contractor here? For, say, Sateda?”

Mel blinked.

“One thing this business with the Genii showed us is that if we want our world we’re going to have to show the Genii we can hold it. And that means reforming the Citizen Brigades. It means we need experienced officers who can train, and most of ours are dead. The ones who aren’t have gotten settled somewhere else by now. We need to get the Satedan Band back, and we need to have a plan. If the Earthlings or Taur’i or whatever you call yourselves can hire a Satedan as a contractor, why can’t Sateda hire you?” Ronon looked down at the claws hooked around her wrist. “I think we’d like you. And I expect you’d like us.”

Mel blinked again. A door had opened in a blank wall, one she’d never thought was there. Maybe she’d want to go through it and maybe she wouldn’t. But there it was. And maybe it was right. Maybe it could be the door into summer at last, the door to the place where she belonged. Her eyes hazed unexpectedly, and she looked purposefully down at the cat, smoothing its soft fur. “I’ll think about that,” she said. “I’ll think about that a lot.”

“No hurry,” Ronon said, standing up. “But do you think you could do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

Ronon shifted from one foot to another. “Carry that animal back to Keller’s quarters for me?”

“Incoming wormhole!” Banks shouted, and John came tearing out of the office, one hand automatically checking his pocket to make sure he had extra clips. “We’re receiving a digital signal.” She turned her head, the change in posture telling him a second before her voice. “And an IDC. It’s Stargate Command.”

John let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Put them on,” he said. “And call Carter and ask her to get up here. Tell her the SGC’s managed to get their hands on a ZPM and is calling in.”

The static on the screen resolved itself into General O’Neill’s face, looking somewhat relieved. “Sheppard? So you’re still in the land of the living.”

“I am, sir,” John said, and couldn’t help breaking into a smile. “We’re just hanging out here. How about you?”

“When Caldwell left you were missing.”

“I’m found,” John said. He sobered. “But we’ve had some serious problems, as I’m sure you’ve heard.”

“I have,” O’Neill said. “What’s the situation with McKay?”

“The same,” John said. “The mechanical iris is holding, and we’ve had no further computer disruptions. They haven’t found us yet, but when they do we’re still screwed without a shield.”

“The status of the
Hammond
?”

“Colonel Carter’s on her way up,” John replied. “She’ll be able to tell you the details, but the
Hammond
is spaceworthy again.”

O’Neill nodded. “Good to hear.”

“Is Mr. Woolsey…” John began.

“We don’t know yet.” O’Neill shrugged. “His final hearing with the IOA is day after tomorrow. Supposedly either he’ll be on his way back to you, or someone else will be.”

“I see,” John said tightly. That was not good news. John would be relieved to have Woolsey back, but the idea of getting some unknown quantity decided upon by the IOA…

“Eventually. They probably won’t name someone immediately.”

Sam came bounding up the steps, a huge grin on her face that she wiped off almost immediately, replaced by professional demeanor as she stepped in front of the cameras. “General.”

“Colonel Carter. Good to see you in one piece.” O’Neill’s voice had a vaguely inappropriate mocking edge in it, a little too sarcastic for the situation. “Sheppard says the
Hammond
is spaceworthy.”

She nodded. “We’ve done some repairs. I won’t say we’re in tip-top form, but we’re battle ready.”

“Woolsey may not be back,” John said to her under his breath.

“Understood,” she replied, her eyes on the screen, O’Neill in the control room of the SGC.

He glanced at someone they couldn’t see behind him. “Colonel Mitchell, you can stand down. You won’t need to go charging in right this minute.” He looked back at the camera. “But I will need some reports. These are twelve days old.”

“A lot has happened in twelve days,” John said. “We’ve got an op running right now you’ll want to know about.” He scratched his head. “Banks, can you route this into the office? Sam and I will take it in there.”

“Sure,” Banks said. She switched it over and her screen went blank. She looked up at John. “It’s good to hear from home, isn’t it?”

Ninety-six emails in the upload from the SGC. Sam turned her speakers down, Billy Joel’s
This is the Time to Remember
on too loud. That song always reminded her of Daniel, which was maybe why she opened his email first.

Hi Sam,

I’m glad you’re ok.

That was Daniel, straight to the point.

Once again you’ve
screwed up my trip to Atlantis! We were standing on the ramp. Vala was bouncing up and down and Mitchell had his steely-eyed hero thing going on, and Teal’c was…Teal’c. And Jack was pacing around the control room getting all over Landry’s nerves. We were
going to come charging in to rescue you, and just incidentally be in Atlantis for weeks until we could get back.

But no. You had to be fine! You had to not need rescuing. I swear Jack sounded irritated when he told Mitchell to stand down! Certainly we wer
e disappointed. Mitchell wasn’t going to get to take on the Wraith all by himself and Vala wasn’t going to loot the City of the Ancients. And me and Teal’c… We were worried about you, Sam.

And that was Daniel straight to the point too.

Beside her on the desk Billy Joel was singing about walking on a beach beside an old hotel. It had been a deserted Goa’uld pleasure palace, not a hotel, but there had been a cold, windswept beach. They’d been stuck there for nearly two weeks, detoxing from an alien addiction, days and days of pacing up and down that beach with Daniel, listening to him tell stories. She had no gift of storytelling, but she’d certainly appreciated Daniel’s that time.

I won’t tell you to be careful, because I know you will be
unless you can’t. And I won’t tell you to feel guilty or worry about us, because I know you already do. I know you would trade anything for this opportunity. I know you have traded things for it. I mean, I’m a couple of years older than you, but men don’t
have a window of opportunity about having kids the same way women do. Command of the
Hammond
at forty-one for how many years? Four or five probably? Believe me, Sam, I know the trade you’re making, the door you’re closing to be one of Earth’s four starshi
p commanders, to be, for these short years, at the pinnacle. To make the difference.

And then it will be time to get out of the field. I’m not quite there yet, but I’m feeling it. I’m forty-four, Sam. I’ve been “Combat Archaeologist” for fourteen years now
. I’m not done yet, but I can see it on the horizon. There’s going to be a time when “we retreated to the Stargate under fire” stops sounding like fun. Ok, it’s already stopped sounding like fun, but I can still do it. Jack knew when it was time to get out
of the field, and he was wise enough to do it. I guess I’m saying there’s a time to leave the table when you’re winning, and you may have a bunch of hands yet to play, but I’m starting to look at the chips and wonder how many I’ve got left.