Casualty Notification
Mar. 16th, 2021 08:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bungakertasRating: PG
Warning(s): character death, discussions of other character deaths, general sads
Pairing(s): none
Disclaimer: Stargate: SG-1, Stargate: Atlantis and related characters and situations are the property of MGM Studios Inc. No money changed hands and no copyright infringement is intended or implied.
Summary: Colonel Caldwell has had to be the bearer of bad news before, but never quite like this.
Spoilers: SG-1, "Unending"; Atlantis, "First Strike" through "Lifeline"
*~*~*
Colonel Steven Caldwell flipped absently through the reports they'd just received from the Apollo as he made his way towards the bridge for his shift. And then came to a dead halt in the middle of the corridor as he paged through them.
Atlantis had been attacked by the Replicators, submerged, and then flown off the planet, failed to meet the rendezvous and was now who-the-hell-even-knew where. Samantha Carter—yes, the Samantha Carter—was now in the Pegasus galaxy helping Apollo look for a whole damn city, along with Bill Lee. What the Replicators were doing at this moment was anybody's guess. Ellis had certainly chosen an interesting time for his debut in this galaxy.
The most recent update from Earth was at the bottom, days old by now, but it contained news that made the bottom drop out of his stomach. He read it three times, just to be sure. Once he was positive he was not misreading the information in front of him, he strode to the bridge.
Bishop stood from the command chair, but Caldwell waved him down. "Bridge is still yours for now."
Several heads turned in surprise. Caldwell couldn't blame them. He was a career military officer. He wasn't even capable of being late for work anymore.
"Hermiod, I'd like to see you in the briefing room for a moment."
The ship's Asgard advisor, possibly the only person on board who could compete with him for irritability, gave him a narrow glance.
"I'm afraid it's important."
Now everyone was very studiously attending to their station with more than their usual level of assiduousness. Not that anyone on board Daedalus would ever dare be less than focused, but they were very pointedly failing to look.
"Very well," Hermiod finally said.
The walk to the briefing room was short, and Caldwell forced himself to walk slowly to account for Hermiod's shorter stride. He hadn't often had cause to think about why their alien advisor's legs were so short, but it was ringing heavily in his mind now.
Hermiod entered the briefing room and sat down on one of the chairs, looking at Caldwell expectantly. To stall for time, Caldwell turned and pulled the door hatch shut behind them.
"Please speak your mind, Colonel," Hermiod finally said.
"I don't know how to tell you this," Caldwell finally said, "but I have news about your homeworld."
He turned and saw Hermiod looking at him with a calm expression. "Then the self-destruct plan was enacted? It is done?"
Caldwell felt a rush of anger. He had known! He had known and never said a word. Just kept on going about his business as if nothing had changed and his world wasn't doomed and he wasn't dying—
Which, he hated to admit, was exactly what he would do himself if he were given the same news. How to state it so that he would not be worsening what must already be a painful reality. Opting for simple statement of fact, he said, "The Asgard transferred all the information and technology they had to the Odyssey before the destruction of Orilla. The planet was completely destroyed. There are no known survivors. I'm sorry."
Hermiod bowed his head. "Then it is done. And I am the last."
"Is it true that you're sick?" Caldwell asked.
"Extremely so. I have not been well for some time," Hermiod admitted.
"You have to know that our ship's doctor will move heaven and earth to try and save you. We all would," Caldwell said. "Hell, if you'd asked, I would've seen to it we took you back to Orilla ourselves. Why didn't you tell me to take you home?"
Because that was what Caldwell couldn't get and it was going to kill him to try and understand it.
"Because you would have done it," Hermiod said simply, "and we would not have scouted the Asuran homeworld, or defeated the Wraith virus on board this ship, or successfully evacuated the Taranians from their volcano eruption, or defeated the Hives we fought with the Orion. You have needed my help less and less, but you have needed it."
Caldwell frowned. "I don't want to downplay your contributions here, but…we would've figured it out."
"No," Hermiod said. "You would not. I have no doubt you will carry on admirably, but it was my duty to you and to my own people, to remain with you long enough to be certain that you not only would carry on our legacy, but that you could do so. You were not yet ready. But you are ready now."
Caldwell didn't know what to say to that. So he decided to change the subject. "And you're sure nothing can be done? We can…have the doctor take a look at you. Something."
"I am dying. Your doctor is already aware and is still attempting to succeed where all of our own doctors failed. A futile hope, but I can not convince her to stop," Hermiod said.
Caldwell sighed. "I'm afraid no one on this ship knows how to lose very well."
"A trait equal parts admirable and irritating."
The quiet stretched for a moment. "I should tell Dr. Novak. Or you should. She's going to take it the hardest," Caldwell finally said.
"She will shed many tears and suffer many hiccups," Hermiod agreed. "I have attempted to inform her, but there never seems to be time. Nor have my efforts to solve the hiccups been successful."
Caldwell huffed. "Yeah, we've never figured out the hiccups, either." He paused before adding, "I'll tell her. I can relieve you of duty, if you like? There's no reason you have to keep working regular hours with this hanging over your head."
"Then I should spend all my hours thinking of nothing but my coming death. No, Colonel, I wish to spend my last days in fruitful pursuits."
Caldwell sighed. "All right." He took a breath. "Look, I've never been stupid enough to think you were under my command—"
"Because you are not stupid."
"But I hope you know you are a member of my crew. Is there anything you want us to do for you? Any…arrangements we should make, or customs we should observe?"
Hermiod looked at him curiously for a moment. Finally, he said, "No. We have been cloning ourselves for so long that I can not remember what our funeral customs used to be. Foolishness on our part, I see that now. When I die, you may do for me as you would for any of your own people. You are the Fifth Race, and the bearers of our legacy. So you will carry on for us in this also."
Caldwell nodded. "All right. If you're sure about all this, then I guess you'd better go take your station."
Hermiod nodded and after Caldwell opened the door, left for the bridge.
Dr. Novak took the news as expected, and asked to be excused for the day so that when she next saw Hermiod, she would not risk putting him in the position of comforting her. Caldwell didn't see her again the rest of the day. The news spread slowly among the crew, and while everyone did try to respect Hermiod's wishes and go about things as if it was all routine, there was no denying that they gave the very last of the Asgard a bit more deference than they had before. And his grumblings were borne with a little more tolerance.
Hermiod died a week later, found lying in his bunk, and with no obvious signs of pain or distress. It was somewhere in the deep void on the way from Pegasus to the Milky Way galaxy. Caldwell vacillated for a long time about where he should be buried. Earth didn't seem right, being as they'd come so late to the game, although he did come very close to asking to reserve him a spot in Arlington. Nor did it seem right to take him to the Ida galaxy. The Asgard had fully committed to their plan of leaving their legacy to the tau'ri and all their colony worlds had evacuated back to Orilla before it had been destroyed. All their former planets were empty now, and their homeworld was only so much space debris. That wouldn't do.
In the end, he decided that it would be most fitting to take him to Cimmeria. It was the world where they had first encountered the Asgard, and where the first building blocks of their alliance had been laid. It was also a world where they would truly understand what it meant to say that Hermiod had died as the last of the Asgard and he should rest among friends.
Caldwell also spent a long time wondering about about what flag to drape on the coffin until Daniel Jackson turned up with an actual Viking shield, painted with a set of Asgard runes on it that Jackson said were the names of significant achievements or battles in which Hermiod had participated. Some were military victories. Some were scientific achievements.
"We're burying him as a viking? Really?" Caldwell found himself saying.
"Ah, no. Viking funereal customs involved…a lot of very horrible stuff, actually," Daniel said as he watched Siler and Harriman carefully fit the shield to the top of Hermiod's coffin. "But there's no doubt that the Asgard clearly had a heavy influence on Norse culture and mythology. I suppose, without clear directions on how an Asgard funeral should go, burying him with the marks of the culture that they most heavily shaped is as close as we can get."
"It feels like it isn't enough," Caldwell finally said. "He told me that we were supposed to carry on their legacy so I should just treat him like I would any human. But he wasn't human and I don't know that he would've wanted any of this. I'm not sure any of this is right."
Daniel frowned. "I mean, you knew him better than me, but he never struck me as someone who hesitated to say exactly what he meant."
Caldwell blinked. "No, he really wasn't. Maybe I just miss him, too."
Daniel nodded. "They lived for millennia, and it still feels too short."
For Hermiod's final journey through the stargate, he was carried by Generals Landry and O'Neill, Daniel Jackson, Teal'c, Lindsey Novak, and Colonel Caldwell. Some of Earth's most distinguished, accomplished, bravest individuals and it didn't seem like enough. How could it be? How do you hold a funeral for an entire race? Is it fair to do that when the funeral was for only one individual and not the entire race? Did it matter either way, since the Asgard were dead and now the Fifth Race was the Only Race? Funerals weren't really for the dead, after all, since they were dead and didn't care. It was the people left alive that the funeral served.
The Cimmerians were waiting, and took Hermiod's casket onto a wagon drawn by a black horse. The pall-bearers were instructed to walk behind in a straight line and the rest of the mourners would follow. They made their slow way down a road, to a place that—to Caldwell's knowledge—was newly built.
With help from the SGC, the Cimmerians had built a monument for Hermiod around which would be built a memorial park commemorating all the Asgard and their achievements. It looked peaceful here. And finally Caldwell knew he had chosen the right place. This was fitting after all. If Hermiod had chosen to die separated from his people, then at least he could be buried where the Asgard were remembered and celebrated. It was a choice he'd made, knowing the cost, and Caldwell decided that maybe that was all the understanding Hermiod had needed.
Maybe all any of the Asgard had needed at the end.
They held a wake for him. Dr. Novak confessed she had drafted her resignation letter and Hermiod had found it and scolded her for it. If he could not irritate everyone himself, she would have to do it on his behalf. Caldwell told the story of the only time he'd ever heard Hermiod say the word "crap." Kevin Marks talked about a time when Hermiod had gotten him to eat Asgard food. And on it went. They shared their stories and they said goodbye.
Caldwell put Hermiod's picture on the wall they kept of shipmates they'd lost. And Novak fastened a plaque beneath it with a short message inscribed on it, once in English, and again in Asgard runes as translated by Dr. Jackson.
I see there my Father.
I see there my Mother.
I see there my Brothers and Sisters.
I see there the line of my people back to the beginning.
They bid me take my place among them in the halls of Vallhalla.
Where the brave may live forever.
Nor shall we mourn, but rejoice, for those that have died the glorious death.
THE END
*~*~*
Author's Notes: I don’t remember why I wrote this. I dithered on posting it for a long time and finally went, “Eh, screw it, what the hell.” So. Here it is.
Warning(s): character death, discussions of other character deaths, general sads
Pairing(s): none
Disclaimer: Stargate: SG-1, Stargate: Atlantis and related characters and situations are the property of MGM Studios Inc. No money changed hands and no copyright infringement is intended or implied.
Summary: Colonel Caldwell has had to be the bearer of bad news before, but never quite like this.
Spoilers: SG-1, "Unending"; Atlantis, "First Strike" through "Lifeline"
Colonel Steven Caldwell flipped absently through the reports they'd just received from the Apollo as he made his way towards the bridge for his shift. And then came to a dead halt in the middle of the corridor as he paged through them.
Atlantis had been attacked by the Replicators, submerged, and then flown off the planet, failed to meet the rendezvous and was now who-the-hell-even-knew where. Samantha Carter—yes, the Samantha Carter—was now in the Pegasus galaxy helping Apollo look for a whole damn city, along with Bill Lee. What the Replicators were doing at this moment was anybody's guess. Ellis had certainly chosen an interesting time for his debut in this galaxy.
The most recent update from Earth was at the bottom, days old by now, but it contained news that made the bottom drop out of his stomach. He read it three times, just to be sure. Once he was positive he was not misreading the information in front of him, he strode to the bridge.
Bishop stood from the command chair, but Caldwell waved him down. "Bridge is still yours for now."
Several heads turned in surprise. Caldwell couldn't blame them. He was a career military officer. He wasn't even capable of being late for work anymore.
"Hermiod, I'd like to see you in the briefing room for a moment."
The ship's Asgard advisor, possibly the only person on board who could compete with him for irritability, gave him a narrow glance.
"I'm afraid it's important."
Now everyone was very studiously attending to their station with more than their usual level of assiduousness. Not that anyone on board Daedalus would ever dare be less than focused, but they were very pointedly failing to look.
"Very well," Hermiod finally said.
The walk to the briefing room was short, and Caldwell forced himself to walk slowly to account for Hermiod's shorter stride. He hadn't often had cause to think about why their alien advisor's legs were so short, but it was ringing heavily in his mind now.
Hermiod entered the briefing room and sat down on one of the chairs, looking at Caldwell expectantly. To stall for time, Caldwell turned and pulled the door hatch shut behind them.
"Please speak your mind, Colonel," Hermiod finally said.
"I don't know how to tell you this," Caldwell finally said, "but I have news about your homeworld."
He turned and saw Hermiod looking at him with a calm expression. "Then the self-destruct plan was enacted? It is done?"
Caldwell felt a rush of anger. He had known! He had known and never said a word. Just kept on going about his business as if nothing had changed and his world wasn't doomed and he wasn't dying—
Which, he hated to admit, was exactly what he would do himself if he were given the same news. How to state it so that he would not be worsening what must already be a painful reality. Opting for simple statement of fact, he said, "The Asgard transferred all the information and technology they had to the Odyssey before the destruction of Orilla. The planet was completely destroyed. There are no known survivors. I'm sorry."
Hermiod bowed his head. "Then it is done. And I am the last."
"Is it true that you're sick?" Caldwell asked.
"Extremely so. I have not been well for some time," Hermiod admitted.
"You have to know that our ship's doctor will move heaven and earth to try and save you. We all would," Caldwell said. "Hell, if you'd asked, I would've seen to it we took you back to Orilla ourselves. Why didn't you tell me to take you home?"
Because that was what Caldwell couldn't get and it was going to kill him to try and understand it.
"Because you would have done it," Hermiod said simply, "and we would not have scouted the Asuran homeworld, or defeated the Wraith virus on board this ship, or successfully evacuated the Taranians from their volcano eruption, or defeated the Hives we fought with the Orion. You have needed my help less and less, but you have needed it."
Caldwell frowned. "I don't want to downplay your contributions here, but…we would've figured it out."
"No," Hermiod said. "You would not. I have no doubt you will carry on admirably, but it was my duty to you and to my own people, to remain with you long enough to be certain that you not only would carry on our legacy, but that you could do so. You were not yet ready. But you are ready now."
Caldwell didn't know what to say to that. So he decided to change the subject. "And you're sure nothing can be done? We can…have the doctor take a look at you. Something."
"I am dying. Your doctor is already aware and is still attempting to succeed where all of our own doctors failed. A futile hope, but I can not convince her to stop," Hermiod said.
Caldwell sighed. "I'm afraid no one on this ship knows how to lose very well."
"A trait equal parts admirable and irritating."
The quiet stretched for a moment. "I should tell Dr. Novak. Or you should. She's going to take it the hardest," Caldwell finally said.
"She will shed many tears and suffer many hiccups," Hermiod agreed. "I have attempted to inform her, but there never seems to be time. Nor have my efforts to solve the hiccups been successful."
Caldwell huffed. "Yeah, we've never figured out the hiccups, either." He paused before adding, "I'll tell her. I can relieve you of duty, if you like? There's no reason you have to keep working regular hours with this hanging over your head."
"Then I should spend all my hours thinking of nothing but my coming death. No, Colonel, I wish to spend my last days in fruitful pursuits."
Caldwell sighed. "All right." He took a breath. "Look, I've never been stupid enough to think you were under my command—"
"Because you are not stupid."
"But I hope you know you are a member of my crew. Is there anything you want us to do for you? Any…arrangements we should make, or customs we should observe?"
Hermiod looked at him curiously for a moment. Finally, he said, "No. We have been cloning ourselves for so long that I can not remember what our funeral customs used to be. Foolishness on our part, I see that now. When I die, you may do for me as you would for any of your own people. You are the Fifth Race, and the bearers of our legacy. So you will carry on for us in this also."
Caldwell nodded. "All right. If you're sure about all this, then I guess you'd better go take your station."
Hermiod nodded and after Caldwell opened the door, left for the bridge.
Dr. Novak took the news as expected, and asked to be excused for the day so that when she next saw Hermiod, she would not risk putting him in the position of comforting her. Caldwell didn't see her again the rest of the day. The news spread slowly among the crew, and while everyone did try to respect Hermiod's wishes and go about things as if it was all routine, there was no denying that they gave the very last of the Asgard a bit more deference than they had before. And his grumblings were borne with a little more tolerance.
Hermiod died a week later, found lying in his bunk, and with no obvious signs of pain or distress. It was somewhere in the deep void on the way from Pegasus to the Milky Way galaxy. Caldwell vacillated for a long time about where he should be buried. Earth didn't seem right, being as they'd come so late to the game, although he did come very close to asking to reserve him a spot in Arlington. Nor did it seem right to take him to the Ida galaxy. The Asgard had fully committed to their plan of leaving their legacy to the tau'ri and all their colony worlds had evacuated back to Orilla before it had been destroyed. All their former planets were empty now, and their homeworld was only so much space debris. That wouldn't do.
In the end, he decided that it would be most fitting to take him to Cimmeria. It was the world where they had first encountered the Asgard, and where the first building blocks of their alliance had been laid. It was also a world where they would truly understand what it meant to say that Hermiod had died as the last of the Asgard and he should rest among friends.
Caldwell also spent a long time wondering about about what flag to drape on the coffin until Daniel Jackson turned up with an actual Viking shield, painted with a set of Asgard runes on it that Jackson said were the names of significant achievements or battles in which Hermiod had participated. Some were military victories. Some were scientific achievements.
"We're burying him as a viking? Really?" Caldwell found himself saying.
"Ah, no. Viking funereal customs involved…a lot of very horrible stuff, actually," Daniel said as he watched Siler and Harriman carefully fit the shield to the top of Hermiod's coffin. "But there's no doubt that the Asgard clearly had a heavy influence on Norse culture and mythology. I suppose, without clear directions on how an Asgard funeral should go, burying him with the marks of the culture that they most heavily shaped is as close as we can get."
"It feels like it isn't enough," Caldwell finally said. "He told me that we were supposed to carry on their legacy so I should just treat him like I would any human. But he wasn't human and I don't know that he would've wanted any of this. I'm not sure any of this is right."
Daniel frowned. "I mean, you knew him better than me, but he never struck me as someone who hesitated to say exactly what he meant."
Caldwell blinked. "No, he really wasn't. Maybe I just miss him, too."
Daniel nodded. "They lived for millennia, and it still feels too short."
For Hermiod's final journey through the stargate, he was carried by Generals Landry and O'Neill, Daniel Jackson, Teal'c, Lindsey Novak, and Colonel Caldwell. Some of Earth's most distinguished, accomplished, bravest individuals and it didn't seem like enough. How could it be? How do you hold a funeral for an entire race? Is it fair to do that when the funeral was for only one individual and not the entire race? Did it matter either way, since the Asgard were dead and now the Fifth Race was the Only Race? Funerals weren't really for the dead, after all, since they were dead and didn't care. It was the people left alive that the funeral served.
The Cimmerians were waiting, and took Hermiod's casket onto a wagon drawn by a black horse. The pall-bearers were instructed to walk behind in a straight line and the rest of the mourners would follow. They made their slow way down a road, to a place that—to Caldwell's knowledge—was newly built.
With help from the SGC, the Cimmerians had built a monument for Hermiod around which would be built a memorial park commemorating all the Asgard and their achievements. It looked peaceful here. And finally Caldwell knew he had chosen the right place. This was fitting after all. If Hermiod had chosen to die separated from his people, then at least he could be buried where the Asgard were remembered and celebrated. It was a choice he'd made, knowing the cost, and Caldwell decided that maybe that was all the understanding Hermiod had needed.
Maybe all any of the Asgard had needed at the end.
They held a wake for him. Dr. Novak confessed she had drafted her resignation letter and Hermiod had found it and scolded her for it. If he could not irritate everyone himself, she would have to do it on his behalf. Caldwell told the story of the only time he'd ever heard Hermiod say the word "crap." Kevin Marks talked about a time when Hermiod had gotten him to eat Asgard food. And on it went. They shared their stories and they said goodbye.
Caldwell put Hermiod's picture on the wall they kept of shipmates they'd lost. And Novak fastened a plaque beneath it with a short message inscribed on it, once in English, and again in Asgard runes as translated by Dr. Jackson.
I see there my Mother.
I see there my Brothers and Sisters.
I see there the line of my people back to the beginning.
They bid me take my place among them in the halls of Vallhalla.
Where the brave may live forever.
Nor shall we mourn, but rejoice, for those that have died the glorious death.
THE END
*~*~*
Author's Notes: I don’t remember why I wrote this. I dithered on posting it for a long time and finally went, “Eh, screw it, what the hell.” So. Here it is.
no subject
Date: 2021-03-17 09:03 am (UTC)The racial suicide plan of the Asgard always struck me as silly, about as much so as the conclusion to nBSG, though at least it served a plot advancement purpose. At the least they could have put willing members into some sort of temporal suspension in the hope of future discoveries, and it seemed exceedingly unlikely that all of the Asgard would be dying at just the same time.