"Who's that?" Radek whispers, averting his gaze when the lunch lady looks up to stare at him. Let her. It's not as though she will speak with any of the scientists and invite rumor anyhow. Epsilons - if nothing else, they are good for silence.

"Who? What?" Rodney asks, raising his head from the lunch line and spilling half of his soup onto Radek's tray. "Oh, look what you did."

Radek rolls his eyes. So much for subtle. He should know by now not to expect so much from the human megaphone. Rodney is a strange creature – his brilliance has allowed him even more latitude than the typical Alpha.

"So . . . who?" Rodney tries to whisper. But everyone in about a five-meter radius can hear anyhow.

Radek sighs in resignation. "That woman. The blonde – curly hair."

Rodney spins around, again conspicuously. "The psychologist?"

Radek's smile fades. Of course, the psychologist. Radek has little contact with the conditioning staff. He has always fit in perfectly. Even with the soma rationing, he has been perfectly sociable. But looking at her, those intense blue eyes and that bouncing blonde hair, he thinks maybe it would have been better if he hadn't been.

Rodney picks up his tray and heads over to their usual table in the corner, but not before shooting the psychologist a glare.

"What?" Radek asks, but the second he looks back at her, he knows the question is irrelevant. Sheppard is sitting across from her, looking straight ahead, back stiff and movements calculated and formal. Rodney is turning practically beet-red, chewing so angrily that Radek fears he may have to duck a catapult of mashed potatoes any second now.

"Why can't she just leave him alone?" Rodney shakes his head.

Normally, Sheppard dines with them, regardless of all the whispers that ensue, but there are days, every month like clockwork, where he moves gingerly, keeping his eyes averted and his shoulders straight. Then, he eats with Ford and the rest of the lower-caste Marines, shoveling food in with a brisk military efficiency before rushing off to train.

One day offworld with Rodney, though, and Sheppard is back to his usual self – joking and grinning and even offering solutions to problems they might encounter, if still looking a little shy while doing so.

Rodney looks pained. "I mean, what is shocking out the few brain cells he has left going to do anyhow? I understand that military men need not to think and be happy following orders. I mean, that's what the lower castes are for, but pilots need to be able to think in order to fly. And following orders and being stiff and bruised from shocking sessions every month isn't going to make the Wraith want to kill us less! Why can't people just stop deluding themselves and see that we're trying to survive out here!"

What Rodney thinks is no secret. But, the thing about Rodney is that he's all bark and no bite – everybody knows it. He doesn't even have the courage to ask Sheppard on a date, even if its completely obvious that Sheppard would do it himself if it wouldn't be so presumptuous for a Beta to approach an Alpha-plus, like Rodney.

Rodney is right, after all. They're out here, a galaxy away and no replacement in sight, no soma supply, just them and a bunch of life-sucking aliens and savages who have never even heard of Henry Ford.

Radek sighs, running fingers through his hair. There's nothing they can do. Elizabeth Weir is an Alpha-plus born for what she does. She was a back-up World Controller, in case of accident, but the next generation has been decantered and is growing now, so they have no need for her back on Earth. No, Elizabeth Weir will never buck the system.

But this new woman, the psychologist . . . . Radek smiles, standing.

"Radek!" Rodney shouts, "Did you get an accidental shock treatment as a child? Where are you going?"

Radek doesn't answer. He knows what he needs to do.

"Excuse me?"

Sheppard doesn't even look up at the question, but the woman does.

"Hello, I am Radek Zelenka," he says, stiff and formal just like he was taught to.

"Pleased to meet you, Radek," she responds, confusion showing in her eyes, even as she repeats the phrase just like out of their very first etiquette books. "My name is Kate Heightmeyer."

"I know who you are," he says, ignoring the fact that it wasn't true five minutes ago.

She smiles readily back at him, all professional glitz with only a sparkle of confusion betraying her perfectly calm exterior.

"I was wondering if you would not mind a rendezvous with me later tonight? After you are done here," he gestures to Sheppard, but does not acknowledge him.

She purses her lips for just a brief second before nodding, placidly. "All right, Radek Zelenka. Nineteen hundred hours on the west pier."

"Thank you. Enjoy your meal."

"You as well."

Radek nods and moves off, returning to his table with a grin.

"What the hell was that?" Rodney whispers the second he's back in his seat.

"I asked her for an evening."

"Just like that? You walked willing into the psychologist's den? After all she's done to John?"

Radek shrugs. "Eat your beats. Without nourishment you will fail to live up to the glory of our Fordship."

Rodney rolls his eyes but stuffs a forkful of beats down his throat anyway.

---

The greenhouses out on the west pier are quiet at this time of night. Back in the beginning, when Dr. Weir first organized the productive output of this expedition, they would have been bustling at all hours. But people keep dying and workers are needed in other areas.

Radek loosens his shirt, the humidity creeping up around his collar.

Kate's hair sparkles in the mist, standing out even against the exotic lilies and tiger-striped leaves and the lush green of the thick foliage down here.

"How long do you think we can survive like this?" Radek whispers, voice low and pleading.

Kate turns away, stung. "I thought you asked me here for sex."

"Oh." Well, that's a surprise. Radek is small and scruffy for an Alpha. Normally, he could not earn even the glance of a pneumatic beauty like Kate. "No, no . . . this is more important. I do not suggest rebellion. I suggest only that we are cut off from Earth and its leaders. We must start our own production, even if we must sacrifice some standards in order to survive this."

Kate nods slowly, biting her lip. "And how can I help that?"

"We don't need a military leader that follows ground-fighting tactics book. We need someone who can think."

"And Dr. Weir?"

Radek doesn't know. God, he doesn't know. Elizabeth is a smart woman, addicted to power, but smart and if she thinks that change is the only way to keep that power then she will change.

"You are the psychologist, are you not?"

Kate thinks about it for a moment, her eyes sparkle as bright as the shine on the newest machine part. "Yes, I am. Would you like to have sex now?"

"What? Oh, yes . . . okay . . ."

He stills her hand when she reaches for her Malthusian belt. In a world where high replacement rates are necessary, one can't afford to slow production. Not by even a fraction.