Family History (SGA/Traders xo Hawaii 5-0) part one
Family History
By Sealie
SGA/Traders* crossover with Hawaii 5-0 crew and a guest from the Listener**.
Rating: PG-15/gennish
Genre: action/adventure, h/c.
Warning: mentions of slavery and behaviour therein e.g. treatment of humans as property.
Advisory: my standard potty mouth; murder; mayhem and criminal investigations plus too many adjectives. British English spelling.
Spoilers: set after the end of Stargate Atlantis and Traders. Vast and inclusive mention of events in the first season of the Listener** and Hawaii 5-0 with pure, happy speculation and indulgence of fantasy elements about how events of H 5-0 1:24 play out.
*Part of my SGA/Traders universe, but you should be able to read it without knowing that series. The important fact is that Grant Jansky (played by DH in the series Traders) is on Atlantis, as the Trust and NID wish to utilise his mathematical skills for nefarious purposes. Grant is autistic (although the diagnosis is not that concrete). He is Rodney McKay’s cousin.
**The Listener is a Canadian television series that, I believe, tanked in the US. Plot wise, for this story, no introduction is necessary.
Betas: Cindy Combs audienced this story throughout its writing and had many pertinent comments. Springwoof beta’d the first draft and pointed out many, many things. LKY and Susn had sight of draft two, their betaing was invaluable. Cindy Combs beta’d draft three. Thank you all.
This is the fic for help-pakistan appeal for raphe1. It only took me a year to write it. But I did say that I was a slow writer and promised +2000 words. The actual word count is:
Word count: +33, 000
As scientific conferences went, John Sheppard thought that attending the UCAF - 2011 symposium on ‘Communication, Intelligence and Automation Engineering” was interesting, but it didn’t make his heart sing with anticipation like a conference on ‘Engineering Advancements in Flight’ might have. A conference about Artificial Intelligence was fascinating but AI was also one giant, kick ass threat to the SGC, Earth, and the entire galaxy.
It was also one of the few areas of research that the IOA and the SGC allowed distilled, minor advancements in to be released to the general public. Rodney had alternatively cackled with glee and railed with frustration because one, that the IOA-SGC had allowed IA research out from under their aegis meant that they didn’t understand the ramifications and, two, it wasn’t really his field.
Grant had, however, written a paper and had it accepted by the conference panel. By default, Rodney had devised an algorithm which mapped human neural processes and submitted his own paper. So two SGC funded scientists were going to the University of Toronto to present at the conference. Radek promptly built a rough-and-ready (by Atlantis standards) robot and invited himself on the ride. The entire computer and data intelligence department had then risen up in the biggest free-for-all John had ever seen trying to either downgrade or reverse engineer alien tech to the degree that something could be presented or quickly cobble together an idea catalysed by their research over the last five or so years. After eight of his scientists had presented papers to Rodney for consideration to be submitted to the Conference, Rodney had had to call it quits, much to the disgruntlement of the entire department. There were two that made the cut anyway since they were so deftly crafted by Rodney’s extreme standards. John basically thought that they were too cool to leave out. And neither the IOA nor the SGC were able to protest on grounds of security concerns or intellectual property.
John was babysitting five scientists.
He wasn’t stupid. He had also brought Marines and Air Force officers: one sergeant, one corporal, a lieutenant, and Major Evan Lorne.
Tucked beside him, out of the traffic of academics, students, contractors, corporate representatives, governmental scientists and others that John couldn’t identify, Grant was nibbling his fingernails to the quick in pure, unadulterated terror.
“There’s so many people,” Grant said around his fingers.
John could only nod. When living on Atlantis, crowds -- when you didn’t know the name of everyone present -- could only make you cautious.
Rodney bounded up, the people parting before him. “I have our registration packages. I figured you’d want the backpack.” Rodney thrust a black faux leather backpack and laminated ID card into John’s hand. “I’ve got us messenger bags,” he said to Grant.
Grant opened his conference package and admired the laminated card, rubbing the smooth surface. “What did you get Radek?”
“Radek can get his own.” Rodney rolled his eyes. “Come on, I want to listen to the Keynote Speech.” He turned on his heel and dove back into the crowd.
Grant looked mutely at John and John gazed back until Grant stood a fraction taller and lifted his chin.
“Come on, Squirrel, they’re only scientists.”
Grant shuffled a little closer to John as they made their way through the press of people in the wake of Rodney’s passage.
~*~
“Sir.” Sergeant Dusty Mehra saluted.
“Psst.” John waved off the salute and then abortively returned it. “We’re kind of undercover.” He dropped his hand to tug at the short collar of his black shirt.
The younger woman nodded and immediately relaxed her stance. “Corporal Shenouda is with Drs. Óskarsson and Harrington. They said they are staying for the meet-and-greet tonight.”
“It seems to be the thing to do,” John said. “Go on; keep an eye on your guys. We’ll also be mingling.”
John blew out a sigh. He guessed that the booze was going to be rough and the hors d'œuvres mediocre. A waitress drifted past, a silver tray balanced on one hand. John relieved her of a tall glass of wine. He gave it a judicious sniff and identified it as an inferior sparkling cava, but better than Radek’s rotgut. Rodney was across from him, some sort of puff pastry confection in his hand and an identical glass of cava in the other. Grant was scrunched beside Rodney, glass of coke clutched against his chest. John scanned the crowd. Evan Lorne and Lieutenant Cody Hall were chatting with Radek who was bright eyed with excitement. He had presented his robot during a workshop --
“I need some help!”
A tiny scrap of a kid was holding up a tall, rail-thin elderly man who was wavering like a falling tree. John was there in a heartbeat, helping the kid lower the man to the floor.
“Someone one call 911,” John ordered. Was it 911 in Canada? John kind of thought that it was. “Do you know him? Is he on any medication?”
“Professor Alexander. And no…” The little androgynous-looking, white-haired kid flushed pink. “He never said. I wouldn’t know!”
There was a pale luminous cast to the professor’s skin -- turning it a moribund shade of translucent which John recognised.
“Where’s the paramedics?” John demanded. “Sir, can you raise your arms?”
The man grimaced at him as he clutched, fingers clawed, at his chest. Heart attack, John judged. Transport was paramount. They had rented an SUV; they could take the professor to the nearest hospital.
“Sir,” Sergeant Mehra said, “dispatch says that the paramedics are on their way. Arrival is imminent.”
“Send--”
“Lieutenant Hall has gone to the foyer to direct them here.” The team had studied the layout of the conference hall, adjacent workshop rooms and exits prior to arriving.
“Clear the area,” John directed. He loosened the professor’s tie. Airway, he thought. Breathing - laboured. Circulation - compromised. The kid was keeping the professor propped up, aiding his breathing.
“Clear the way. Clear the way!” Rodney ordered somewhere out of view. The crowd parted and two paramedics, hauling boxes, thumped down beside their patient. Quickly, John backed off, giving the floor to the professionals. Dusty offered him a hand hauling him easily to his feet. The younger paramedic only looked a little older than the kid with the professor. But he was leading where his slightly older partner was support, opening his box of equipment and handing over a stethoscope.
“Hi, sir. My name’s Toby. Can you tell me if you’re on any medication?” he asked as he set the prongs in his ears. Baring the professor’s chest he set the bell over the man’s probably struggling heart. ::Come on, think it. I’ll hear::
John blinked and rubbed at his temple.
::Excellent:: Momentarily abandoning the stethoscope, Toby dipped into the professor’s front jacket pocket and pulled out a small aerosol. “Open your mouth, sir.”
Deftly, he sprayed liquid under the professor’s tongue.
The other paramedic unfurled tubing leading to an oxygen mask and twisted open the canister on the other end. He handed over the mask.
::Thanks, Oz::
Holy shit, John thought. What the Hell?
The dark-haired paramedic spun on his heels and he stared directly at John. The kid’s blue eyes were shocked.
::Did you hear me?:: a thread of hope twined around the kid’s thoughts.
I-John managed, shocked both speechless and practically thoughtless.
::Damn it. I gotta look after my patient. Stay here. I’ll come back at the end of my shift!:: With that he turned back to the ailing professor, presenting the narrow span of his shoulders and impenetrable silence.
John stepped back, right into Dusty, accidently stepping on the woman’s foot. The dark haired sergeant steadied him without a word.
“Clear an exit to the door for the paramedics,” John ordered by rote.
John stood watch as Toby and Oz secured their patient and prepared him for transport amid an array of equipment set on the gurney. They were flanked by Lorne and the student, with Sergeant Mehra on point efficiently ordering milling civilians out of the way. Corporal Shenouda had secured the exit and was keeping one eye on the ambulance.
“John,” Grant whispered and shuffled into his personal space.
“Hey, Squirrel,” John said absently. What the Hell had just happened? It had been telepathy. Not like a Wraith Queen. It had been distinct thoughts rather than the heavy-handed pressure of a Wraith’s overpowering focus on a command or single word. Why the fuck did this happen to him? ”What do you know about telepathy, Grant?”
“I think it’s like radio. I tried a tin hat once but it gave me a headache. Thought processes should be detectable with the correct receiver; they’re measurable.”
John tapped his discreet ear piece. “Lieutenant Hall, bring the SUV around to the front of the building. We’re going to the hospital.”
“What?” Rodney demanded over their communications network. “Why? Did you strain yourself catching that cadaverous old guy?”
“There’s something I want to check out. You can stay. Lorne, stay with Rodney.”
John strode through the crowd of onlookers, distantly aware that he was the recipient of some intrigued and speculative stares; maybe because it looked like he was talking to himself, or because he had a retinue, or both.
By the time he made it to the street, the stockier, slightly older paramedic was closing the doors at the back of the ambulance rig. He nodded at John as he made his way to the front.
Cody Hall pulled up behind the ambulance in their big, glossy -- totally necessary --bulletproof SUV. As John climbed into the passenger front seat, the door behind him closed. Turning, he watched Grant carefully fit his seatbelt catch into the lock and sit back.
“You coming with?”
Grant nodded, fingers picking at the pressed seam on his khaki pants. “There’s a session tomorrow chaired by Professor Mercer on extra-sensory modes of communication. I thought that you would like to know.”
“The ambulance is moving, sir,” Cody said.
John settled back in his seat. Slouching, he set one foot on the dashboard and contemplated.
~*~
Cody pulled into the ambulance bay of the nearest hospital according to the neat little map application that Grant had on his cellular phone thingy. John guessed that it was probably an Atlantis LSD with a few grafted nanites that Grant had taught how to shape shift. The thing seemed to have enough processing power to get the Space Shuttle into orbit.
“Find a parking space,” John directed as he jumped out of the SUV, milliseconds after Cody pulled to a halt. “Stay there.”
“Aye, sir.”
Grant scurried out of the car, adept at keeping up. The automatic doors parted before them as John strode into the busy emergency room. There didn’t seem to be a reception desk, just a long, wide corridor, an open area with chairs and cubicles offset from the corridor and kitty-corner to the seats. He immediately spotted the professor’s student, standing shell-shocked by a vending machine.
“Hey, kid?” He genuinely didn’t know if the student was male or female. Skinny, with a shock of white hair, pale blue eyes framed by white lashes, in a pink, tear stained face, the kid looked like rather than attending a scientific conference, he or she should be in high school. “Have you heard anything?”
“They just took him in.” The kid pointed at a curtained off room. “The guy in the ambulance said he didn’t think it was too bad.”
“What’s your name, kid? I’m John.”
“Jeremy.”
“Come on, sit. You want a Pepsi, Jeremy?” John was already digging in his jean’s pocket for some change as the kid sat on a plastic bucket seat pushed up against the wall. The kid needed some sugar. Without waiting for an answer, he plugged in some cash and selected a full sugar Pepsi. “Grant, do you want something?”
“No.” Grant shook his head, more concerned with mapping the human chaos in the waiting room and corridor bisecting the area.
“Out of the line of fire, Grant.” John took him by the elbow and swung him into the dubious protection of the vending machine and a potted plant, ensuring that he had his back to a wall.
The doors opposite them opened and the two paramedics exited, towing the empty gurney between them. Inside the treatment room, John caught a glimpse of the controlled chaos of a medical team responding to an acute crisis and then the doors swung shut.
Jeremy stood up, spilling sticky Pepsi on the floor. “The prof?”
“Hey, kiddo,” Oz said, abandoning the gurney to his partner. “The docs here are great. You talked to anyone yet? You got your professor’s details?”
Jeremy shook his head, but then, confusingly, nodded.
“Go on, Oz, show him where to go,” Toby said. “I’ll sort out the rig.”
Oz grinned warm and friendly, his ebullience even drawing a timid smile from Grant, as he swung an arm over Jeremy’s shoulder and led him away.
John looked down at Toby; he stood a fraction shorter.
::Can you still hear me?:: Toby asked, crystal clear straight into his thoughts.
John was abruptly aware of the complete insanity of the whole affair. He was standing in a busy emergency room in a downtown Toronto hospital. Hunting a telepath.
Yes, John finally responded, in the forefront of his thoughts, I can.
The kid smiled, elated. ::Finally. How have you coped? Where are you from? What’s your name? Am I--::
“I think,” John said verbally stopping the torrent, “we should take this someplace else?”
“Yes.” Toby pushed the gurney down the corridor.
John automatically lent a hand. “Come on, Grant.”
Grant trotted along at his side, his bobbing gaze alternatively catching John’s eyes and then laser focusing on the back of Toby’s head. The ambulance rig was half parked - half abandoned by the main entrance. Toby opened the doors and loaded the collapsing gurney in the back with the smooth ease of long practice.
“I’m just going to move it away from the doors. And -- then we can grab a coffee -- or something?” Toby said in a mishmash.
Coffee, sounds good.
Toby pointed at a sunset yellow painted diner-café on the corner directly opposite the busy entrance of the hospital.
“That place is good.”
“We’ll see you over there,” John said. He caught Grant’s elbow and steered him away. He settled on focusing on safely crossing a busy street in a busy city, going into a mom-and-pop diner, smiling at a waitress, and insisting on a booth that allowed him to watch both exits.
Grant shuffled up against the back of the booth and tapped the polished, glass mirror on the wall, checking his reflection.
“Coffee?” The waitress held a carafe of fresh smelling coffee.
“Yeah, please.” John held his mug up for her. “Grant will have a chocolate milkshake. A friend’s coming over. We’ll get some food or something when he gets here.”
“Sure, hun.” She sauntered off, sticking her notepad in her apron pocket and pencil behind her ear.
The motion made John trigger the comm stuck in his ear. “Cody?”
“Yes, sir?” Cody said immediately.
“Where are you?”
“Public parking lot, two blocks down, north west of the hospital. I’ve parked for three hours. I have a good view of the street. Do you want me to join you, Colonel?”
“We’re in the diner on the corner. Sunset yellow awning. Stay with the vehicle.” John flicked the comm off.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Grant watching him through the mirror. John leaned back, slouching and moving out of sight. Grant immediately shuffled around and, chin dipped low, looked at him through his eyelashes.
John snorted. “When I know what’s happening, I’ll tell you.”
The door chimed as the paramedic entered. He waved at the waitress, who called out a cheerful hello. He spotted John and Grant immediately and headed straight over. Sliding into the booth opposite John and blowing out a sigh, he set his hands palm down and looked directly at John.
His eyes were a blue-grey and framed by jet black lashes. They were luminous -- but not in a creepy alien way.
“I’m Toby Logan,” he said, and the kid just exuded honesty.
“John Sheppard.” He kept his hands under the table. “This is Grant, a friend.”
::Is he telepathic? I can’t get a read on him? How’s he doing that?:: Toby smiled at Grant, who was nibbling on his little fingernail as he played with his alien Blackberry TM.
How, John just went with his gut, are you doing this?
Toby blinked. ::What do you mean? It just is. I have always. You’re like me…::
He didn’t think the ‘please God, be like me’ but even though the words weren’t crystal clear, John could feel them in his gut.
I’ve had a couple of experiences where I’ve… heard thoughts. This is, John pondered a second, different.
“Here’s your milkshake.” The waitress leaned over, passing it to Grant. “Can I get your orders, boys?
“Uhm.” John plucked the menu from the stand on the table and scanned it at the speed of light. “Classic burger and fries. That sound good, Grant?”
Grant did his characteristic little head bob.
“Two, please,” John confirmed.
“BLT and some fries,” Toby said.
She retrieved her pencil from behind her ear and scribbled on her pad. “Coffee?”
“No, thank you,” Toby said politely. “Coke.”
Smiling, she sauntered off, hips sashaying.
Toby’s eyes were piercing, it was startling. “Your family? Did you hear your mom?”
“No.” John shied away from the memory of the Wraith Queen forcing him to his knees.
“What the - Hell was that?... ::
John slammed back in the booth, forcibly picturing the stretch of horizon over the curve of the earth as he piloted his helicopter over the white expanse of an Antarctic ice sheet.
Kid, don’t pick my brains. You won’t like what you see. And you won’t like the results.
Toby raised his hands. ::Don’t think so loud. That was as freaky as Hell. I don’t. I don’t. You’re the first telepath I’ve really met. I get images and some words. That was some ‘image.’ That was freaky::
“Freaky is one word.” John took a too-hot mouthful of his coffee.
“That lady Goth was… er… freaky,” Toby observed.
Grant sucked loudly, drawing the final dregs of his milkshake from the base of the glass. His creepy-assed, shiny black, alien BlackberryTM lying on the table was pointed at them. The LCD screen was a kaleidoscope of colour and shapes cycling around an inner centre.
“Grant,” John said, chastising.
Grant blew out his cheeks around the straw.
::Look, my mom was taken when I was a little kid. I think people were after her because she was like us.::
Kid, I’m not a telepath. I’m just …
::Sensitive?::
“No! I’ve just been exposed to a lot of weird shit.”
A flare of hurt crossed Toby’s face. “You seem pretty telepathic to me,” he said under his breath.
Grant hummed.
John shot a glare at Grant, who uncharacteristically met his gaze head on. With a degree of unprecedented deliberation, he looked at John and then at Toby, and slowly he turned in his seat to look at the mirror and the reflected scene. Automatically, John looked at his reflection and the nearly empty diner, trying to see what had Grant’s interest. Toby also stared at their reflection. Black, tufty hair, Toby’s cut shorter than John’s. Similar slim build; the narrow span of their shoulders likely barely wider than their hips.
“Toby’s ears aren’t pointy, though,” Grant said conversationally.
John’s mouth fell open.
“Brother?” Toby whispered, hope permeating every pore.
John turned away from the mirror and its secrets. The dark haired, skinny assed kid still sat directly opposite him. Blond haired, blued eyed, square jawed David was his brother, brother from a different mother.
“87% probability of a close familial relationship,” Grant said sotto voce.
“How old are you?” John asked, or rather, demanded.
“I’m thirty.” Toby rolled his eyes.
“Were you having sex when you were fourteen?” Grant asked John, brightly.
“Grant! No. Yes. NO! Jesus.” John could feel the blush on his cheeks.
Toby’s mouth dropped open. There was a blank space of complete surprise where previously thoughts were living. John poked that thought like a tooth with a hole in it. A little curl of a smile graced Grant’s face.
“You made up that statistic, didn’t you,” John said.
“No!” Grant protested, wide-eyed. “There’s a range of error that I didn’t mention, ‘cause ‘uhm, it’s flexible. But the thing you’re doing.” He leaned over and peered at the LCD screen. “Toby -- mainly, I think -- probably means you’re related.”
“You’re monitoring us?” Toby made a grab for the phone, but Grant was faster than a striking rattlesnake when his toys were threatened.
“Mine!” It disappeared into the breast pocket of his North Face jacket. The rasp of the zip was loud and he held the tag close against his chest. “Tell him to stop!”
“Shush, shhhhhhh, Grant, it’s okay.” John flipped his hand at the kid and he dropped back onto the booth seat. “Toby’s not going to do anything. It’s cool.”
::What is he doing?::
Gimme a second.
“Toby’s a friend. You figured out yourself we’re cousins or something. And--” he cut a glance at Toby, “--he’s a paramedic. He helps people; he’s one of the good guys.”
Slowly, Grant unclenched from his huddle. “Oh. Okay. He still can’t have my tricorder. Also Rodney would be very annoyed if I lost it.”
John made a mental note to confiscate and lock Grant’s tricorder (for God’s Sake) in a Naquada safe as soon as possible. Rubbing at the dint above his nose he considered his next step. There were so many options it was paralysing.
Toby was watching them both with his mouth open.
“Did you get that?” John waggled his hand aimlessly around at his temple.
Toby closed his mouth with a clack. “Honestly, no. It wasn’t distinct, discernable thought. You kinda went lots of places - the outer space stuff, I really don’t get.” He leaned over the plastic table top. “Seriously, I hear the surface stuff. Strong memories come to the surface. But really it’s the conscious, completely formed thoughts I pick up most clearly. Often Images. Most thoughts are diffuse.”
“Passive,” Grant said.
“But you know this,” Toby continued. ::You can hear me::
Believe it or not, Kid, this is a first.
::?????? You’re taking this really well:: Toby oozed disbelief.
Sort of a first. Telepaths. Not that surprising in the scheme of things. That we’re related - complicates things.
“I think I should go.” Toby stood, but immediately dropped back down. “Shit. We’re related. People took my mom. Took my baby brother. People look for me. People will now look for you!”
The intensity of his words drew the attention of the couple at the window seat playing footsie under the table.
“Can of worms,” Grant said. “People came for me. You can only run to your family.”
The door chimed, and tall, red headed Lieutenant Cody Hall strode into the diner. His height and his confident demeanour caught everyone’s eye.
“Sir.” Cody refrained from saluting but he stood at parade rest. “There’s a black SUV with darkened windows parked directly opposite. I ran the plates and they’re not registered.”
“Jesus.” John rubbed his face with his hands. Why couldn’t anything be simple?
Toby was on his feet like a shot, but Cody moved faster, stepping into his path, hemming the kid in the booth.
“Toby.” John stood and raised a hand. The freakiest part of this whole affair was the ease with which he accepted that this scrawny kid was a telepath and that he could also talk to him. On a scale of one to ten of the things which he’d experienced since joining the SGC, this rated as six on the personal shit scale, but a mere three on the things are going to get hairy scale.
::What?:: Toby demanded.
“You’re safer with me and my team than running around out there. Cody, did you bring the SUV around or is it still in the parking lot?”
“It’s in the parking lot, sir.”
“Okay, we’re going out the back.” John dug out his bill fold and tossed a pink fifty dollar bill down, vastly over-paying. But the poor waitress was probably going to have to face off against some Men-in-Black running though here like shit through a goose.
“Kid, you have to trust me.”
Toby was a blank. His skin had turned chill-white and his blue-grey eyes had shifted to shocked, bleached stormy grey.
“Cody, you have point. I’m on six. Toby, follow Cody. Come on, Squirrel.” John caught Grant’s collar and hauled him out of the booth.
Cody moved, long legs taking easy, fast steps toward the kitchen. Toby shot a glance at John, came to a decision, and set off after Cody. John straight-arm propelled Grant towards the saloon-type doors separating the kitchen from the serving area. Seeing them move, Cody passed through the swinging doors. John could hear him apologising as he blew through the kitchen, Toby at his heels. As he and Grant passed through, the sight of the cook, skillet raised, muttering, “Geez, it’s just like television,” stuck in John’s mind.
The spring sun out in the back alley was bright and refreshing. Cody turned left and loped off.
“Always running,” Grant muttered under his breath as he was pushed along. “I should stay in the lab.”
“I should remember the four Marines: one civilian ratio when we’re off world,” John said pithily.
End part one.
Part Two
By Sealie
SGA/Traders* crossover with Hawaii 5-0 crew and a guest from the Listener**.
Rating: PG-15/gennish
Genre: action/adventure, h/c.
Warning: mentions of slavery and behaviour therein e.g. treatment of humans as property.
Advisory: my standard potty mouth; murder; mayhem and criminal investigations plus too many adjectives. British English spelling.
Spoilers: set after the end of Stargate Atlantis and Traders. Vast and inclusive mention of events in the first season of the Listener** and Hawaii 5-0 with pure, happy speculation and indulgence of fantasy elements about how events of H 5-0 1:24 play out.
*Part of my SGA/Traders universe, but you should be able to read it without knowing that series. The important fact is that Grant Jansky (played by DH in the series Traders) is on Atlantis, as the Trust and NID wish to utilise his mathematical skills for nefarious purposes. Grant is autistic (although the diagnosis is not that concrete). He is Rodney McKay’s cousin.
**The Listener is a Canadian television series that, I believe, tanked in the US. Plot wise, for this story, no introduction is necessary.
Betas: Cindy Combs audienced this story throughout its writing and had many pertinent comments. Springwoof beta’d the first draft and pointed out many, many things. LKY and Susn had sight of draft two, their betaing was invaluable. Cindy Combs beta’d draft three. Thank you all.
This is the fic for help-pakistan appeal for raphe1. It only took me a year to write it. But I did say that I was a slow writer and promised +2000 words. The actual word count is:
Word count: +33, 000
As scientific conferences went, John Sheppard thought that attending the UCAF - 2011 symposium on ‘Communication, Intelligence and Automation Engineering” was interesting, but it didn’t make his heart sing with anticipation like a conference on ‘Engineering Advancements in Flight’ might have. A conference about Artificial Intelligence was fascinating but AI was also one giant, kick ass threat to the SGC, Earth, and the entire galaxy.
It was also one of the few areas of research that the IOA and the SGC allowed distilled, minor advancements in to be released to the general public. Rodney had alternatively cackled with glee and railed with frustration because one, that the IOA-SGC had allowed IA research out from under their aegis meant that they didn’t understand the ramifications and, two, it wasn’t really his field.
Grant had, however, written a paper and had it accepted by the conference panel. By default, Rodney had devised an algorithm which mapped human neural processes and submitted his own paper. So two SGC funded scientists were going to the University of Toronto to present at the conference. Radek promptly built a rough-and-ready (by Atlantis standards) robot and invited himself on the ride. The entire computer and data intelligence department had then risen up in the biggest free-for-all John had ever seen trying to either downgrade or reverse engineer alien tech to the degree that something could be presented or quickly cobble together an idea catalysed by their research over the last five or so years. After eight of his scientists had presented papers to Rodney for consideration to be submitted to the Conference, Rodney had had to call it quits, much to the disgruntlement of the entire department. There were two that made the cut anyway since they were so deftly crafted by Rodney’s extreme standards. John basically thought that they were too cool to leave out. And neither the IOA nor the SGC were able to protest on grounds of security concerns or intellectual property.
John was babysitting five scientists.
He wasn’t stupid. He had also brought Marines and Air Force officers: one sergeant, one corporal, a lieutenant, and Major Evan Lorne.
Tucked beside him, out of the traffic of academics, students, contractors, corporate representatives, governmental scientists and others that John couldn’t identify, Grant was nibbling his fingernails to the quick in pure, unadulterated terror.
“There’s so many people,” Grant said around his fingers.
John could only nod. When living on Atlantis, crowds -- when you didn’t know the name of everyone present -- could only make you cautious.
Rodney bounded up, the people parting before him. “I have our registration packages. I figured you’d want the backpack.” Rodney thrust a black faux leather backpack and laminated ID card into John’s hand. “I’ve got us messenger bags,” he said to Grant.
Grant opened his conference package and admired the laminated card, rubbing the smooth surface. “What did you get Radek?”
“Radek can get his own.” Rodney rolled his eyes. “Come on, I want to listen to the Keynote Speech.” He turned on his heel and dove back into the crowd.
Grant looked mutely at John and John gazed back until Grant stood a fraction taller and lifted his chin.
“Come on, Squirrel, they’re only scientists.”
Grant shuffled a little closer to John as they made their way through the press of people in the wake of Rodney’s passage.
~*~
“Sir.” Sergeant Dusty Mehra saluted.
“Psst.” John waved off the salute and then abortively returned it. “We’re kind of undercover.” He dropped his hand to tug at the short collar of his black shirt.
The younger woman nodded and immediately relaxed her stance. “Corporal Shenouda is with Drs. Óskarsson and Harrington. They said they are staying for the meet-and-greet tonight.”
“It seems to be the thing to do,” John said. “Go on; keep an eye on your guys. We’ll also be mingling.”
John blew out a sigh. He guessed that the booze was going to be rough and the hors d'œuvres mediocre. A waitress drifted past, a silver tray balanced on one hand. John relieved her of a tall glass of wine. He gave it a judicious sniff and identified it as an inferior sparkling cava, but better than Radek’s rotgut. Rodney was across from him, some sort of puff pastry confection in his hand and an identical glass of cava in the other. Grant was scrunched beside Rodney, glass of coke clutched against his chest. John scanned the crowd. Evan Lorne and Lieutenant Cody Hall were chatting with Radek who was bright eyed with excitement. He had presented his robot during a workshop --
“I need some help!”
A tiny scrap of a kid was holding up a tall, rail-thin elderly man who was wavering like a falling tree. John was there in a heartbeat, helping the kid lower the man to the floor.
“Someone one call 911,” John ordered. Was it 911 in Canada? John kind of thought that it was. “Do you know him? Is he on any medication?”
“Professor Alexander. And no…” The little androgynous-looking, white-haired kid flushed pink. “He never said. I wouldn’t know!”
There was a pale luminous cast to the professor’s skin -- turning it a moribund shade of translucent which John recognised.
“Where’s the paramedics?” John demanded. “Sir, can you raise your arms?”
The man grimaced at him as he clutched, fingers clawed, at his chest. Heart attack, John judged. Transport was paramount. They had rented an SUV; they could take the professor to the nearest hospital.
“Sir,” Sergeant Mehra said, “dispatch says that the paramedics are on their way. Arrival is imminent.”
“Send--”
“Lieutenant Hall has gone to the foyer to direct them here.” The team had studied the layout of the conference hall, adjacent workshop rooms and exits prior to arriving.
“Clear the area,” John directed. He loosened the professor’s tie. Airway, he thought. Breathing - laboured. Circulation - compromised. The kid was keeping the professor propped up, aiding his breathing.
“Clear the way. Clear the way!” Rodney ordered somewhere out of view. The crowd parted and two paramedics, hauling boxes, thumped down beside their patient. Quickly, John backed off, giving the floor to the professionals. Dusty offered him a hand hauling him easily to his feet. The younger paramedic only looked a little older than the kid with the professor. But he was leading where his slightly older partner was support, opening his box of equipment and handing over a stethoscope.
“Hi, sir. My name’s Toby. Can you tell me if you’re on any medication?” he asked as he set the prongs in his ears. Baring the professor’s chest he set the bell over the man’s probably struggling heart. ::Come on, think it. I’ll hear::
John blinked and rubbed at his temple.
::Excellent:: Momentarily abandoning the stethoscope, Toby dipped into the professor’s front jacket pocket and pulled out a small aerosol. “Open your mouth, sir.”
Deftly, he sprayed liquid under the professor’s tongue.
The other paramedic unfurled tubing leading to an oxygen mask and twisted open the canister on the other end. He handed over the mask.
::Thanks, Oz::
Holy shit, John thought. What the Hell?
The dark-haired paramedic spun on his heels and he stared directly at John. The kid’s blue eyes were shocked.
::Did you hear me?:: a thread of hope twined around the kid’s thoughts.
I-John managed, shocked both speechless and practically thoughtless.
::Damn it. I gotta look after my patient. Stay here. I’ll come back at the end of my shift!:: With that he turned back to the ailing professor, presenting the narrow span of his shoulders and impenetrable silence.
John stepped back, right into Dusty, accidently stepping on the woman’s foot. The dark haired sergeant steadied him without a word.
“Clear an exit to the door for the paramedics,” John ordered by rote.
John stood watch as Toby and Oz secured their patient and prepared him for transport amid an array of equipment set on the gurney. They were flanked by Lorne and the student, with Sergeant Mehra on point efficiently ordering milling civilians out of the way. Corporal Shenouda had secured the exit and was keeping one eye on the ambulance.
“John,” Grant whispered and shuffled into his personal space.
“Hey, Squirrel,” John said absently. What the Hell had just happened? It had been telepathy. Not like a Wraith Queen. It had been distinct thoughts rather than the heavy-handed pressure of a Wraith’s overpowering focus on a command or single word. Why the fuck did this happen to him? ”What do you know about telepathy, Grant?”
“I think it’s like radio. I tried a tin hat once but it gave me a headache. Thought processes should be detectable with the correct receiver; they’re measurable.”
John tapped his discreet ear piece. “Lieutenant Hall, bring the SUV around to the front of the building. We’re going to the hospital.”
“What?” Rodney demanded over their communications network. “Why? Did you strain yourself catching that cadaverous old guy?”
“There’s something I want to check out. You can stay. Lorne, stay with Rodney.”
John strode through the crowd of onlookers, distantly aware that he was the recipient of some intrigued and speculative stares; maybe because it looked like he was talking to himself, or because he had a retinue, or both.
By the time he made it to the street, the stockier, slightly older paramedic was closing the doors at the back of the ambulance rig. He nodded at John as he made his way to the front.
Cody Hall pulled up behind the ambulance in their big, glossy -- totally necessary --bulletproof SUV. As John climbed into the passenger front seat, the door behind him closed. Turning, he watched Grant carefully fit his seatbelt catch into the lock and sit back.
“You coming with?”
Grant nodded, fingers picking at the pressed seam on his khaki pants. “There’s a session tomorrow chaired by Professor Mercer on extra-sensory modes of communication. I thought that you would like to know.”
“The ambulance is moving, sir,” Cody said.
John settled back in his seat. Slouching, he set one foot on the dashboard and contemplated.
~*~
Cody pulled into the ambulance bay of the nearest hospital according to the neat little map application that Grant had on his cellular phone thingy. John guessed that it was probably an Atlantis LSD with a few grafted nanites that Grant had taught how to shape shift. The thing seemed to have enough processing power to get the Space Shuttle into orbit.
“Find a parking space,” John directed as he jumped out of the SUV, milliseconds after Cody pulled to a halt. “Stay there.”
“Aye, sir.”
Grant scurried out of the car, adept at keeping up. The automatic doors parted before them as John strode into the busy emergency room. There didn’t seem to be a reception desk, just a long, wide corridor, an open area with chairs and cubicles offset from the corridor and kitty-corner to the seats. He immediately spotted the professor’s student, standing shell-shocked by a vending machine.
“Hey, kid?” He genuinely didn’t know if the student was male or female. Skinny, with a shock of white hair, pale blue eyes framed by white lashes, in a pink, tear stained face, the kid looked like rather than attending a scientific conference, he or she should be in high school. “Have you heard anything?”
“They just took him in.” The kid pointed at a curtained off room. “The guy in the ambulance said he didn’t think it was too bad.”
“What’s your name, kid? I’m John.”
“Jeremy.”
“Come on, sit. You want a Pepsi, Jeremy?” John was already digging in his jean’s pocket for some change as the kid sat on a plastic bucket seat pushed up against the wall. The kid needed some sugar. Without waiting for an answer, he plugged in some cash and selected a full sugar Pepsi. “Grant, do you want something?”
“No.” Grant shook his head, more concerned with mapping the human chaos in the waiting room and corridor bisecting the area.
“Out of the line of fire, Grant.” John took him by the elbow and swung him into the dubious protection of the vending machine and a potted plant, ensuring that he had his back to a wall.
The doors opposite them opened and the two paramedics exited, towing the empty gurney between them. Inside the treatment room, John caught a glimpse of the controlled chaos of a medical team responding to an acute crisis and then the doors swung shut.
Jeremy stood up, spilling sticky Pepsi on the floor. “The prof?”
“Hey, kiddo,” Oz said, abandoning the gurney to his partner. “The docs here are great. You talked to anyone yet? You got your professor’s details?”
Jeremy shook his head, but then, confusingly, nodded.
“Go on, Oz, show him where to go,” Toby said. “I’ll sort out the rig.”
Oz grinned warm and friendly, his ebullience even drawing a timid smile from Grant, as he swung an arm over Jeremy’s shoulder and led him away.
John looked down at Toby; he stood a fraction shorter.
::Can you still hear me?:: Toby asked, crystal clear straight into his thoughts.
John was abruptly aware of the complete insanity of the whole affair. He was standing in a busy emergency room in a downtown Toronto hospital. Hunting a telepath.
Yes, John finally responded, in the forefront of his thoughts, I can.
The kid smiled, elated. ::Finally. How have you coped? Where are you from? What’s your name? Am I--::
“I think,” John said verbally stopping the torrent, “we should take this someplace else?”
“Yes.” Toby pushed the gurney down the corridor.
John automatically lent a hand. “Come on, Grant.”
Grant trotted along at his side, his bobbing gaze alternatively catching John’s eyes and then laser focusing on the back of Toby’s head. The ambulance rig was half parked - half abandoned by the main entrance. Toby opened the doors and loaded the collapsing gurney in the back with the smooth ease of long practice.
“I’m just going to move it away from the doors. And -- then we can grab a coffee -- or something?” Toby said in a mishmash.
Coffee, sounds good.
Toby pointed at a sunset yellow painted diner-café on the corner directly opposite the busy entrance of the hospital.
“That place is good.”
“We’ll see you over there,” John said. He caught Grant’s elbow and steered him away. He settled on focusing on safely crossing a busy street in a busy city, going into a mom-and-pop diner, smiling at a waitress, and insisting on a booth that allowed him to watch both exits.
Grant shuffled up against the back of the booth and tapped the polished, glass mirror on the wall, checking his reflection.
“Coffee?” The waitress held a carafe of fresh smelling coffee.
“Yeah, please.” John held his mug up for her. “Grant will have a chocolate milkshake. A friend’s coming over. We’ll get some food or something when he gets here.”
“Sure, hun.” She sauntered off, sticking her notepad in her apron pocket and pencil behind her ear.
The motion made John trigger the comm stuck in his ear. “Cody?”
“Yes, sir?” Cody said immediately.
“Where are you?”
“Public parking lot, two blocks down, north west of the hospital. I’ve parked for three hours. I have a good view of the street. Do you want me to join you, Colonel?”
“We’re in the diner on the corner. Sunset yellow awning. Stay with the vehicle.” John flicked the comm off.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Grant watching him through the mirror. John leaned back, slouching and moving out of sight. Grant immediately shuffled around and, chin dipped low, looked at him through his eyelashes.
John snorted. “When I know what’s happening, I’ll tell you.”
The door chimed as the paramedic entered. He waved at the waitress, who called out a cheerful hello. He spotted John and Grant immediately and headed straight over. Sliding into the booth opposite John and blowing out a sigh, he set his hands palm down and looked directly at John.
His eyes were a blue-grey and framed by jet black lashes. They were luminous -- but not in a creepy alien way.
“I’m Toby Logan,” he said, and the kid just exuded honesty.
“John Sheppard.” He kept his hands under the table. “This is Grant, a friend.”
::Is he telepathic? I can’t get a read on him? How’s he doing that?:: Toby smiled at Grant, who was nibbling on his little fingernail as he played with his alien Blackberry TM.
How, John just went with his gut, are you doing this?
Toby blinked. ::What do you mean? It just is. I have always. You’re like me…::
He didn’t think the ‘please God, be like me’ but even though the words weren’t crystal clear, John could feel them in his gut.
I’ve had a couple of experiences where I’ve… heard thoughts. This is, John pondered a second, different.
“Here’s your milkshake.” The waitress leaned over, passing it to Grant. “Can I get your orders, boys?
“Uhm.” John plucked the menu from the stand on the table and scanned it at the speed of light. “Classic burger and fries. That sound good, Grant?”
Grant did his characteristic little head bob.
“Two, please,” John confirmed.
“BLT and some fries,” Toby said.
She retrieved her pencil from behind her ear and scribbled on her pad. “Coffee?”
“No, thank you,” Toby said politely. “Coke.”
Smiling, she sauntered off, hips sashaying.
Toby’s eyes were piercing, it was startling. “Your family? Did you hear your mom?”
“No.” John shied away from the memory of the Wraith Queen forcing him to his knees.
“What the - Hell was that?... ::
John slammed back in the booth, forcibly picturing the stretch of horizon over the curve of the earth as he piloted his helicopter over the white expanse of an Antarctic ice sheet.
Kid, don’t pick my brains. You won’t like what you see. And you won’t like the results.
Toby raised his hands. ::Don’t think so loud. That was as freaky as Hell. I don’t. I don’t. You’re the first telepath I’ve really met. I get images and some words. That was some ‘image.’ That was freaky::
“Freaky is one word.” John took a too-hot mouthful of his coffee.
“That lady Goth was… er… freaky,” Toby observed.
Grant sucked loudly, drawing the final dregs of his milkshake from the base of the glass. His creepy-assed, shiny black, alien BlackberryTM lying on the table was pointed at them. The LCD screen was a kaleidoscope of colour and shapes cycling around an inner centre.
“Grant,” John said, chastising.
Grant blew out his cheeks around the straw.
::Look, my mom was taken when I was a little kid. I think people were after her because she was like us.::
Kid, I’m not a telepath. I’m just …
::Sensitive?::
“No! I’ve just been exposed to a lot of weird shit.”
A flare of hurt crossed Toby’s face. “You seem pretty telepathic to me,” he said under his breath.
Grant hummed.
John shot a glare at Grant, who uncharacteristically met his gaze head on. With a degree of unprecedented deliberation, he looked at John and then at Toby, and slowly he turned in his seat to look at the mirror and the reflected scene. Automatically, John looked at his reflection and the nearly empty diner, trying to see what had Grant’s interest. Toby also stared at their reflection. Black, tufty hair, Toby’s cut shorter than John’s. Similar slim build; the narrow span of their shoulders likely barely wider than their hips.
“Toby’s ears aren’t pointy, though,” Grant said conversationally.
John’s mouth fell open.
“Brother?” Toby whispered, hope permeating every pore.
John turned away from the mirror and its secrets. The dark haired, skinny assed kid still sat directly opposite him. Blond haired, blued eyed, square jawed David was his brother, brother from a different mother.
“87% probability of a close familial relationship,” Grant said sotto voce.
“How old are you?” John asked, or rather, demanded.
“I’m thirty.” Toby rolled his eyes.
“Were you having sex when you were fourteen?” Grant asked John, brightly.
“Grant! No. Yes. NO! Jesus.” John could feel the blush on his cheeks.
Toby’s mouth dropped open. There was a blank space of complete surprise where previously thoughts were living. John poked that thought like a tooth with a hole in it. A little curl of a smile graced Grant’s face.
“You made up that statistic, didn’t you,” John said.
“No!” Grant protested, wide-eyed. “There’s a range of error that I didn’t mention, ‘cause ‘uhm, it’s flexible. But the thing you’re doing.” He leaned over and peered at the LCD screen. “Toby -- mainly, I think -- probably means you’re related.”
“You’re monitoring us?” Toby made a grab for the phone, but Grant was faster than a striking rattlesnake when his toys were threatened.
“Mine!” It disappeared into the breast pocket of his North Face jacket. The rasp of the zip was loud and he held the tag close against his chest. “Tell him to stop!”
“Shush, shhhhhhh, Grant, it’s okay.” John flipped his hand at the kid and he dropped back onto the booth seat. “Toby’s not going to do anything. It’s cool.”
::What is he doing?::
Gimme a second.
“Toby’s a friend. You figured out yourself we’re cousins or something. And--” he cut a glance at Toby, “--he’s a paramedic. He helps people; he’s one of the good guys.”
Slowly, Grant unclenched from his huddle. “Oh. Okay. He still can’t have my tricorder. Also Rodney would be very annoyed if I lost it.”
John made a mental note to confiscate and lock Grant’s tricorder (for God’s Sake) in a Naquada safe as soon as possible. Rubbing at the dint above his nose he considered his next step. There were so many options it was paralysing.
Toby was watching them both with his mouth open.
“Did you get that?” John waggled his hand aimlessly around at his temple.
Toby closed his mouth with a clack. “Honestly, no. It wasn’t distinct, discernable thought. You kinda went lots of places - the outer space stuff, I really don’t get.” He leaned over the plastic table top. “Seriously, I hear the surface stuff. Strong memories come to the surface. But really it’s the conscious, completely formed thoughts I pick up most clearly. Often Images. Most thoughts are diffuse.”
“Passive,” Grant said.
“But you know this,” Toby continued. ::You can hear me::
Believe it or not, Kid, this is a first.
::?????? You’re taking this really well:: Toby oozed disbelief.
Sort of a first. Telepaths. Not that surprising in the scheme of things. That we’re related - complicates things.
“I think I should go.” Toby stood, but immediately dropped back down. “Shit. We’re related. People took my mom. Took my baby brother. People look for me. People will now look for you!”
The intensity of his words drew the attention of the couple at the window seat playing footsie under the table.
“Can of worms,” Grant said. “People came for me. You can only run to your family.”
The door chimed, and tall, red headed Lieutenant Cody Hall strode into the diner. His height and his confident demeanour caught everyone’s eye.
“Sir.” Cody refrained from saluting but he stood at parade rest. “There’s a black SUV with darkened windows parked directly opposite. I ran the plates and they’re not registered.”
“Jesus.” John rubbed his face with his hands. Why couldn’t anything be simple?
Toby was on his feet like a shot, but Cody moved faster, stepping into his path, hemming the kid in the booth.
“Toby.” John stood and raised a hand. The freakiest part of this whole affair was the ease with which he accepted that this scrawny kid was a telepath and that he could also talk to him. On a scale of one to ten of the things which he’d experienced since joining the SGC, this rated as six on the personal shit scale, but a mere three on the things are going to get hairy scale.
::What?:: Toby demanded.
“You’re safer with me and my team than running around out there. Cody, did you bring the SUV around or is it still in the parking lot?”
“It’s in the parking lot, sir.”
“Okay, we’re going out the back.” John dug out his bill fold and tossed a pink fifty dollar bill down, vastly over-paying. But the poor waitress was probably going to have to face off against some Men-in-Black running though here like shit through a goose.
“Kid, you have to trust me.”
Toby was a blank. His skin had turned chill-white and his blue-grey eyes had shifted to shocked, bleached stormy grey.
“Cody, you have point. I’m on six. Toby, follow Cody. Come on, Squirrel.” John caught Grant’s collar and hauled him out of the booth.
Cody moved, long legs taking easy, fast steps toward the kitchen. Toby shot a glance at John, came to a decision, and set off after Cody. John straight-arm propelled Grant towards the saloon-type doors separating the kitchen from the serving area. Seeing them move, Cody passed through the swinging doors. John could hear him apologising as he blew through the kitchen, Toby at his heels. As he and Grant passed through, the sight of the cook, skillet raised, muttering, “Geez, it’s just like television,” stuck in John’s mind.
The spring sun out in the back alley was bright and refreshing. Cody turned left and loped off.
“Always running,” Grant muttered under his breath as he was pushed along. “I should stay in the lab.”
“I should remember the four Marines: one civilian ratio when we’re off world,” John said pithily.
End part one.
Part Two