Tin Man (3/4)
Sheppard was dressed in a hospital gown and Teyla sat on the bed next to him, stroking his fingers. “They are going to inject a dye into your IV in a few minutes and it may make you feel flushed.”
Sheppard was transfixed, watching her rub circles over his knuckle. She started to pull her hand away and Sheppard squeezed it tighter.
Teyla hissed and Sheppard’s eyes went wide in panic and instantly let go.
“It's alright,” Teyla soothed, shaking her fingers. “My circulation was being cut off, it's better now.”
She took his hand again and he resisted. “I promise. It’s okay.” That seemed to settle Sheppard down and Teyla continued talking to him. “Do you have any questions about the procedure?”
Wetting his lips, he started to ask but thought better of it.
“If you have questions, you should tell me, John.”
“No, I don't. If you think I need it...”
“I do.”
Ducking his head, he whispered. “Can you explain it to me again?”
Rodney couldn't bring himself to interrupt, not that he wanted to. He stood staring outside the curtain, feet frozen in place.
Jennifer slipped up next to him and wrapped an arm around his waist. “Teyla's very good with him.”
“Of course she is. She's a mother.”
“Colonel Sheppard is not a child, Rodney. He's just-”
“Completely tamed,” Rodney bit out. “Unable to sit in the room by himself without being nervous.”
“We're going to use this PET scan to map the activity throughout his brain. Hopefully-”
“Hopefully,” he spat. “How many times have I heard that word?”
“This is a difficult situation. There's been an acceleration in between episodes, and the best thing we can do is try to capture the changes in his brain when they take place.”
“It's not just the amygdala, is it?” There were too many things going haywire for it to be one problem.
“We don't think so.” She tightened her hold-partly in fear, partly in reassurance. “There was a flurry of activity in the cingulate cortex which-”
“Does it matter?” He was so damn sick of all the false hope.
“Yes, it does.” Jennifer pulled away. “It's an integral part of the limbic system, which is involved with emotional formation and...”
“Memory?”
Jennifer nodded. “We are discovering the connection,” she rubbed her hand over the left side of his face. “We just need to find the source of the disruptions, and then we can figure out the cause.”
---
The entire weight of the universe was on his shoulders, and while it was nothing new, Rodney felt overcome by the responsibility. How many times had his life and the lives of hundreds, no thousands, depended on him? Yet this felt like he was slowly suffocating.
“Dr. McKay, you’re needed in the hanger bay.”
“What? I'm busy. I'm more than busy. I'm unavailable,” he growled.
“Sir, we really need you in the jumper bay.”
“Too bad.”
“Sir, this is a serious situation.”
“I'm sorry, my serious situation overrides yours.” But Sheppard's 'precious' was in the jumper bay, and he couldn't let someone screw up that ship. “What? Wait. Who am I speaking with?”
“Sergeant Davidson, we're....”
“Well, don't do whatever you have planned. I'll be right there,” he yelled, clicking the radio off.
For crying out loud, Sheppard goes out of commission for a little while, and all his toy soldiers start falling down. It was a wonder Atlantis was ever secured.
--
Rodney nearly barreled over Radek as he stepped out of the transporter. “Make a hole!” Radek did the opposite and stood directly in Rodney's way. Oh, for crying out loud. “Do you hear that? That's my impending aneurysm.”
Radek ignored him completely. “I was on my way to see you.”
“Did you know we had these nifty devices called radios?” And Rodney started walking.
“I knew you were coming. It was easier to meet you halfway,” Radek said, once again moving to stand in the way.
“What is it?” Rodney growled, weaving around him. “I have a crisis to attend to.”
“We have successfully restored power to the fighter ship.”
His warpath to the hanger suddenly halted, and Rodney spun on his heel toward a very smug-looking scientist. “Really?”
“The flight engineers have started testing onboard systems. They are worried about fluctuations and overheating of the engines, but yes,” and Radek bounced on the balls of his feet, “most of the craft appears functional.”
“That's fast.” It had been what? A few days?
Radek shrugged. “Our teams have been working on it around the clock. While old, the ship has been meticulously maintained by Ten. Without his knowledge, we would not have made such progress.” Pushing his glasses up, he added. “I thought the news might cheer up Colonel Sheppard.”
At the mention of his friend's name, Rodney's warpath was back on. “Why are you still standing there? Make sure those military Neanderthals don't break Sheppard's ship before he can take it up for a test ride.”
Radek shouted something, but Rodney didn't pay him any attention. He couldn't afford more distractions, which was exactly what he was going to yell at the jarhead who had demanded his presence. He swore, if the military thought they could take over the restoration of the ship once those with the brains got it functional, they had another thing coming.
And seriously, was the jumper bay always this large? His rant was going to lose steam by the time he reached the-oh, it would appear the grunts were meeting him halfway. The gesture wouldn't earn them any brownie points.
Wow. Sergeant Davidson was the shortest marine he'd ever seen.
“Dr. McKay.”
Okay, short but built like a bulldozer. Was the guy's arms the size of small trees? “Yes, what do you want? I'm not sure if you realize or not, but I-”
“The robot has been demanding to see you.”
“Android,” Rodney corrected. “And he has a name. What-”
Davidson did an about-face and started walking, forcing Rodney to jog in order to catch up. “Hello? Mind telling me what's going on?”
“During the dinner break, it reported back to its secured area and then summoned the guards, telling us it was a matter of great importance that you come down.”
“Did you tell him I was a bit preoccupied?”
“Several times. It wouldn't stop asking. We didn't want things to escalate into a security problem.”
By the time they rounded the corner, Rodney was ahead of the marine and outside the electromagnetic field. Ten sat on the floor, but as soon as it saw him, he sprung up, feet loudly clanking on the cement floor. “You came,” his voice reverberated loudly.
“Yes, I am here. Um...you need something?”
The field crackled from the android's proximity to it and for a second, Rodney thought Ten would walk right through it. “It is Fur.”
“Fur?” Rodney searched for the android's furry companion, spotting a lump where Ten had been sitting.
“He has eaten very little the last few days and now he will not get up.”
Rodney's eyes strayed from the unmoving shaggy mop to Ten's eyes that'd increased in size to take up half his LSD screen. His mouth was a thin frown, long articulated fingers curling and uncurling, making noises like a rivet gun.
“Assuming there's enough biological parts, I could maybe have the little fellow checked out by-”
Ten carried the animal in his giant metal hands and bent at the knees to Rodney's height.
“You can lower the shield,” Rodney ordered the marine.
The air between them fizzled and Ten handed his pet over. “Go with him, Fur. He will take care of you.”
The ball of hair wiggled in Rodney's hands, his nose sniffing the air before nuzzling into his shirt. It's mechanical back legs were cold to the touch, and Rodney ignored all the grotesque wiring. “Okay, little guy. Let's um...you know. See what our local vet has to say.”
Lord help those in zoology if they couldn't help a simple canine. Perhaps cyborg-dog was more appropriate, but who worried about such details?
The shield glimmered back into place and Rodney stared up into Ten's disembodied face. “I'll come back later. Okay?”
“Yes.”
Then Ten started pacing, the action perplexing. “What are you doing?”
“My electrical system is experiencing a slight surge in power and I have need to expend it.”
“Can you run a self-diagnostic or something?”
Ten ceased pacing, brilliant blue orbed eyes somewhat smaller. “I have. I am compensating.”
“You do that,” Rodney told him. The last thing they needed was a malfunctioning android.
“I will see you later.”
Rodney almost replied and realized that Ten was talking to Fur. Feeling awkward, it was Rodney who waved goodbye with his free hand.
--
The nurse approached John's bed hesitantly, like he was a child. She was older looking, with crow's feet and fine laugh lines. He didn't know her name.
“Colonel?”
Was that him? Yes, of course. That was his title.
“I'm going to take your temperature,” she said, cautiously holding up an instrument. “This goes in your ear.”
John stared at the thing, unsure if he should break it or avoid touching it.
“It won't hurt. I'll test it on myself first,” she said, inserting the device in her left ear. “It takes just a few seconds.”
His head wouldn't stop pounding, but John didn't take his eyes off the nurse, all his suspicion dissipating with the beep. “See, 98.7,” she announced holding up the display.
It took five heart-stopping seconds before the numbers made any sense to him. John rubbed at the back of his neck in embarrassment, the middle of his chest getting tight. “I'm sorry,” he mumbled, wishing it didn't feel like the world was crashing in.
“Don't you worry your pretty head...um...Colonel,” she amended with a blush. “Sorry.”
John smiled lightly in return, oddly relived that she wasn't angry with him.
Replacing the tip, she took his temperature. “You developed a slight fever a short while ago, but we started you on fluids and that should help.”
The nurse was efficient and quick, tapping notes into her PDA and asking if there was anything he needed. With a polite no thank you, she was gone and he was left with his thoughts, as spotty as they were.
He was sick of being a yo-yo, bouncing from one extreme to the other, helpless against it. There were hardly any signs before he was suddenly overwhelmed by sheer anger or filled with so much grief he could barely move. It was paralyzing, a flood wrenching him one way then another. There was no fighting it; in fact, he was always so swept up in the moment that he never knew that his sudden mood shift was abnormal.
Would he fall asleep tonight and forget who he was in the morning? Just a stranger in the mirror, unable to control his mental faculties, never knowing the reason why? Bouncing around like a pinball from one extreme state to another?
Completely powerless.
He was exhausted, a band of tension at his temples worsening as he held on to this little embankment of sanity. He felt something tingle inside his brain and his heart skipped a beat. His hand twitched and the tingle morphed into a solid wall of pinpricks down his arm.
No, no, no. Please no more.
He reached for the call button. If this was a warning signal, someone needed to know before...
Snap.
His head hurt when he opened his eyes. His gaze strayed to find a large man sitting next to him. John knew the man, the name on the tip of his tongue.
“Ronon,” John muttered. “Ronon,” he repeated, beating the word into his brain and triggering a flood of images in his mind like a rapidly flipping photo album. Guns and explosions. Laughter and goofing around. Everything told him to grab a hold of them and never let go.
“You had a crush on that geologist last summer,” he babbled, scratching frantically at the adhesive leads at his brow, wondering why they were there. “And you got drunk on Athosian firewater last month and confessed that you had nightmares about giant marshmallow men after you saw Ghost Busters for the first time.”
“You're not allowed to tell anyone,” Ronon grunted.
Then John had been in the gate room, duffel back in one hand, Ronon standing next to him in a t-shirt that was a few sizes too small.
A weight of despair pressed down on him. Wiping at the tears suddenly in his eyes, John choked back an inescapable sob. “And you were there. At my father's funeral. When I didn't want anyone with me, you knew it was bullshit. Because I don't know how to admit when I need...need help...can't admit how much I've fucked up in life.”
“I'm your friend. I don't care how many times you've screwed up.” Ronon grabbed his shoulder. “You hear me?”
You hear me! If you leave this room, don't come back!
John squeezed his eyes closed against the riptide of emotion. “I was afraid if I returned home after I walked out, my father would've thrown the door shut in my face,” he whispered, the flashes like talons. “It was easier to walk away from him. That way, no matter what happened, it'd always be his fault.”
“Sheppard?...John, look at me.”
“You look at me, Captain! You pull another fucking maneuver like that again, they won't even let you fly for the postal service. That's a forty-million dollar aircraft. You have a fight to pick with the North Koreans, do it after you pay Uncle Sam back for all of your training!”
Sweat pooled at his hairline and John wiped it away. He stared at his trembling hand, balling his fingers up, but a tingle snaked up his arm into nonstop palsy.
Ronon yelled for help as John stared transfixed at his shaky limb, and for one split second, he knew. This was it. He was fading. And in a moment of clarity, John mumbled, “I'm scared.”
Snap.
“Colonel. Can you hear me?”
“Huh?”
“Please open your eyes, John.”
“What's going on?” he asked the voice, peeling open his gritty lids.
A familiar young woman peered down at him. “You had what we call a focal seizure, but you're doing better.”
“What?” he asked groggily.
Stethoscope, white lab coat; yeah, she was a physician.
“You’re experiencing some hyperactivity in your brain,” she answered.
Hyper what?
John stared at the ceiling, his entire body one giant ache. “I'm tired.”
“That's to be expected,” she said, fluttering between being nice and concerned. “Do you know my name?”
It was right there. “Keller?”
“That's correct,” she beamed.
But it was just a name, that's all. A placeholder. Lifting his hand to itch at the leads tangled in his hair, something tugged and pinched his arm. He noticed the IV. “What's this?”
“You're running a fever,” Keller answered, taking a seat in the stool next to him. “Do you know why you're here?”
“Yeah,” he muttered, remembering just bits and pieces. “But we haven't figured it out yet, right?”
“You’re experiencing increased activity in you hypothalamus, which has caused you to feel emotionally pretty up and down.”
John still had no idea what she was talking about, but he was more annoyed at how the tubing pitched his skin, and he grabbed the offending plastic.
Warm fingers stilled his. “You really shouldn't play with that.”
“Why?”
“Because you have a fever.”
“I don't see what that has to do with anything,” John growled, wanting the damn thing out.
Keller gently moved his hand away. “Fluids are a way of treating you. It helps prevent dehydration.”
“Oh. It's not like I'm a doctor,” John defended, but deep down, he knew he should have known that.
“We all have our expertise. I, for one, don't know a thing about flying.” Keller smiled. “Amy had a tray of Jell-O. If you tell me your favorite flavor, I'll snag you one.”
“Flavor?”
“Or color. That works, too.”
“I...I don't....” And the harder he fought to understand, the harder it was to focus.
“Don't worry about it, I'll make it a surprise. I know you're tired, but could you do one more thing for me?”
John stared at Keller, grasping for anything other than her name. He felt implicit trust without an explanation, but he still had his gut to go by. “What do you need?”
“Nothing complicated.” Pulling out a pad of paper, she slid it over his table. “Do you think you could draw me something?”
“Like what?”
“How about a plane?”
“Kind of a strange request, but sure.” John took the offered pencil and stared at the blank sheet of paper. Squinting, he couldn't get his fingers to cooperate and tried sketching the wings, the graphite making a little wiggle line. “Damn it.”
“I'm more of a stick figure person myself. Maybe just try the shapes,” Keller suggested.
Except he couldn't. John pictured the bolts and angles and could name every flight instrument of an F-18, but his hand refused to translate the information, drawing random scribbles until he broke the pencil in half and the rest of him was suddenly awash in a white haze.
“Colonel?...John? Are you with me?”
His head jerked, followed by one side of his body and the rest of him followed.
Snap.
--
Jennifer poured over PET scans, studying all of John's brain events. Neural activity had accumulated like a firestorm in his limbic system. Emotion and memory, all of the abnormal activity had a connection. But how? She had no clue. Glaring at the latest EEG readings only confirmed a lack of activity in those areas and increased reactions in the cerebral cortex.
Add in three focal seizures, a rising temperature, and...she glanced at the drawing. She'd picked a plane as a means of comparison and the results were dramatic.
God, what was she going to do?
Whatever was wrong, it was spreading, and she was no closer to figuring it out than she had been a few days ago. Things were rapidly going downhill, too. The last few hours had been a nightmare.
Rubbing at the tension in her neck, she read the dreadful results of Kertesz's last cognitive examination.
“Have you finished studying your tea leaves yet?” Rodney demanded as he stomped inside.
“Because I'd really like to see Sheppard, and your goons won't let me into his room.”
She'd been dreading this moment, and reading her like a book, Rodney stilled, face stricken. “What's happened?”
“Colonel Sheppard suffered several seizures in a very short period of time.”
“What?”
“I think it's the result of the massive changes going on,” she plunged ahead, not wanting to parcel things out. Like ripping off a band-aid. “The neurological activity has shifted areas.”
“Where is it now?”
Bringing up the image on her lap top, she pointed at the red areas. “The cerebral cortex. And it's progressing rapidly.”
“Is he...I mean....?”
“He can still communicate and hold conversations,” Jennifer assured him. “But he's having difficulty with abstract thought.”
“That's not much of a change. Not everyone is into thinking outside the box. Sheppard's very much an action guy. The military drills that into them, you know.” Rodney dismissed, but he couldn't hide his fear. It was clear as day.
Sugarcoating things was a disservice. Jennifer didn't want to hurt Rodney, but he needed to face the harsh reality staring back at them.
“He doesn't have the ability to distinguish between sensory experiences. He knows what a table is but doesn't understand that it's the color black. If I were to ask him what makes him happy, he's unable to articulate his answer because happiness isn't something tangible.”
“Maybe quizzing him on philosophy when he's not feeling very well isn't a measurable tool.”
“Rodney,” she sighed. “He didn't know how his IV helped with his fever. And before you make a smart aleck comment on medicine, his reasoning skills are being affected. Kertesz just conducted another neurological examination. Colonel Sheppard had a hard time understanding the difference between outside and inside.”
Throwing up his hands, he took his frustration out on her. “Congratulations. You know a lot about what's wrong with him but not what's causing it.”
“I don't know yet. Whatever it is acts like a firestorm of neurons.” Steeling her reserves, she held his gaze, fully aware he wouldn't like her next words. “I'm going to do a lumbar puncture next.”
His eyes went wide in horror. “You're going to stick a syringe in his spine?”
“It's better than performing a brain biopsy. His spinal fluid will provide us with cellular samples from inside his brain. I wouldn't do it if I didn't have a choice.” Tapping on her keyboard, Jennifer pulled up two images of Sheppard's brain. The first one, where the limbic system was, was bright pink and purple. “This is a snapshot of the increased activity from earlier today. And this,” she pointed to an image taken last year during the colonel's checkup after his recovery from Kirsan Fever, “is what his activity should look like. All blue.”
Then she clicked on the next file. “This is the most current image of his limbic system after the hyperactivity shifted into the cerebral cortex.”
He leaned over for a closer look. “It's gray.”
Jennifer leaned back in her chair in a slump. “The hyperactivity has either destroyed the proteins and synapses there or caused them to become inactive.”
“That sounds really, really bad,” Rodney's voice dropped.
“It is.” Jennifer hated this. Hating being that person with horrible news and no way of offering hope. “Because in essence, the nucleic acid code and proteins are somehow blocking the normal receptors for healthy activity. We're losing Colonel Sheppard one piece at a time.”
---
Rodney wasn't allowed near Sheppard during the spinal tap, thank goodness, but he found himself standing by his bed while the colonel was asleep.
He resisted the urge to wake him up just to have another conversation and reassure himself that his friend was still there, all of him. It wouldn't matter what they talked about. Eyes scanning all the monitors and crazy wires, he almost poked Sheppard in the arm, but rested his hand on his friends shoulder instead.
“Give me more time, John,” he whispered.
“You really should let the colonel get some rest,” a soft voice told him.
Spinning around, Rodney nearly knocked over the bedside table. “I was just leaving.”
Retreating to his lab, he found himself surrounded by the tools of his life and helpless at how to use them to save Sheppard.
“Doctor McKay?”
“What?” he snapped.
“Um...are you okay, sir?”
It took a second to realize his head was buried in his hands, and Rodney swirled around in his chair, fighting the urge to scream, 'No! I'm not fucking okay. How are you?' But Dr. Orslo was a quiet, shy spry thing of a zoologist and Rodney found no amusement in terrorizing her. “Do you have something for me?”
Clutching a PDA to her chest, Orslo nervously kept pushing strands of long black hair behind her ear. “I have examined the android's pet.”
“Please tell me it’s being finicky about what it likes to eat. Has indigestion or something.”
“I'm sorry. I wish it was that simple. The animal is a he by the way,” she corrected, actually demonstrating a little spunk. “Fur has several major medical problems, from the paralysis of his hind legs to being partial blind and deaf. Not to mention-”
“I don't have time for a whole medical history,” Rodney cut her off. “Just tell me if he's going to be alright.”
“No, he's not.” Orslo had that practiced physician’s expression for giving bad news. “Fur is in renal failure. He has been for a long time. It appears he's been given extensive care, a type of dialysis, but his liver had shut down now as well, and it's only a matter of time before his heart goes.”
It was like a dark cloud followed him everywhere.
“How long?”
“Maybe a couple of days.”
“He was just fine!” Rodney jumped out of his seat and lowered his voice as Orslo flinched. “I mean, he was wagging his tail and doing you know...dog stuff.”
“Animals have a much harder time communicating when they hurt,” Orslo consoled him.
“Sometimes, we don't ever know until it's near the end.”
“Great.”
“Fur is in a lot of pain, Dr. McKay. It would be more humane if we-”
“Don't! Just...just don't. I'll go and um...pick him up,” Rodney mumbled, brushing pass her. “Fat good anyone is around here when it comes to actually saving people.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Rodney stormed out of the lab.
---
It's just a dog and only a part-dog at that. An inbreed travesty, he told himself, securing the animal closer to his shirt. “You're heavier than my cat and not as soft. And all these wires are not conducive to petting. I mean, is there any other reason for having you?
“And let's face it. Given the news about your…well, your impending health issues is harder on me than it'll be on your owner. I'll just hand you over and get back to-well, get back to being a complete and utter failure. Because what's building a gate bridge between trillions of miles of space and being able to crush all forms of theoretical physics in my sleep compared to finding a way to help Sheppard?”
Fur made a trilling noise and Rodney held it closer to his chest. “That's right. Nothing.”
Walking through the jumper bay didn't take as long today, and he found himself in front of a familiar invisible field. Ten made short work of his cell, metal legs pumping back and forth in a demonstration of precision.
Had he'd been pacing the whole time?
“Lower the shield,” Rodney told the marine.
Davidson didn't look too thrilled at the request with their guest so agitated and leveled his weapon at ready.
Entering the space, Rodney plastered on a smile. “Hey.”
Ten stopped, his neck pivoting to the right. His voice was strangely calm, eyes and mouth thin and small. “There's something wrong.”
Guess there was no beating around the bush.
“It looks like Fur has several er...system-wide malfunctions.”
Ten extended his neck a few inches without stepping forward. “Can he be fixed?”
Rodney licked his lips nervously, cursing the irony of the role reversal. “His modifications are fairly complex, and well, we just don't have the expertise.”
Ten's eyes doubled, then tripled their size, going from azure to blazing sapphire, his mouth a set of sharp up and down lines. “He’s...dying?”
“Yes, I'm...um...sorry?” Rodney held the pet out for the android to take.
“I...” Ten took a clumsy step back. “I don't understand what's happening.”
“Don't understand what?”
“These new subroutines.” Ten's eyes flashed. “Re-directing them is difficult. There is corruption in the logic loop.”
Now Rodney was the one taking a step back. “New subroutines?”
“There’s no need for concern.” Ten's LED screen reverted back to his normal expression and he whistled loudly. Fur jumped out of Rodney's hands and onto wobbly legs to skimmer toward it's owner. “I will make the needed adjustments. Thank you for returning him to me.”
“Rodney, it's Jennifer. Please respond.”
“I'm a little busy here, can't it-”
“It's important.”
Heart pounding, Rodney yelled at the marine standing guard. “Hurry up!” Glancing back at Ten, he left the android with his pet and headed back to the transporter.
---
It's important could have many meanings. Like Sheppard had been miraculously cured. Yeah, right, because Rodney wasn't that lucky. More than likely, it was 'time to say your goodbye because you weren’t able to save him.' That Rodney could believe. And it was for this reason that he suddenly wasn't in a rush, hoping the transporter would malfunction and he wouldn't be forced to witness Sheppard's final moments.
You're a damn coward, he accused himself. Just because you don't want to see yourself in Sheppard's eyes.
The transporter doors swooshed open and he made a beeline for the infirmary, gathering optimism that he normally scoffed at, and gulped down his fear. If Sheppard could hang out in space for twenty minutes waiting to blow himself up inside a Hive, then Rodney could face whatever was waiting for him.
----
Teyla was also rushing through the hallway, and together they entered the infirmary, finding Ronon wearing away the floor.
“What has happened?” Teyla demanded.
“Don't know. I just got here. Been waiting on you guys.”
Jennifer emerged from around the corner, Woolsey and Lorne hot on her heels. “I know what's causing Colonel Sheppard's condition.” Strolling toward a computer without pause, she brought up an image. “It's a virus.”
“What? Like rabies?” Rodney asked horrified.
“No,” Jennifer answered. “It's an artificial virus... made up of molecular-sized machines.”
“Machines?” Woolsey echoed. “You mean nanites?”
“No, nanites are molecular robots, which are much more complex, able to work together and form higher degrees of artificial intelligence,” Jennifer corrected. “These are synthetic nucleic acid strands. Very simple molecular components programmed with very specific tasks.”
“And what are those?” Teyla asked.
Jennifer scanned her audience. “They insert themselves into Colonel Sheppard's cells and incorporate their genetic material into his DNA... so they can copy it.”
“Copy it? For what purpose?” Woolsey asked astounded.
“I don't know yet,” Jennifer answered, shaking her head in frustration. “But the process itself is wreaking havoc on his brain. Proteins are pretty complex-one misspelling in the nucleic acid code and proteins don't fold correctly, meaning they don't work and become destructive. By reproducing flawed proteins, they cause healthy ones to become inactive or cease altogether.”
“Wait. I don't understand.” Lorne scrubbed a hand wearily across his face. “Colonel Sheppard has been infected by a virus that is trying to copy...what? His mind?”
Jennifer scanned the anxious group. “In essence, yes.”
“What's the point?” Ronon growled.
“And why?” Teyla wondered, stating the same question on all of their minds.
“And how the hell did it happen?” Lorne growled. “It sounds like Sheppard was a target. You just don't accidentally get infected with a virus like this.”
“No, you don't,” Rodney hissed. And it really hit him. Hard. “I can't believe he did this.”
“Who?” Ronon and Lorne both demanded.
Teyla closed the small distance between them. “You have a theory?”
“I didn't notice at first.”
“Rodney,” Jennifer touched his shoulder. “We're not inside your head. Please tell us what you're thinking.”
“The first thing John lost were primary memories. The ones that shaped him.” He snapped his fingers. “Learning. He lost the memories where he learned an emotional response or ones that helped reinforce his current ones.” Seeing a mix of lost expressions, he took a deep breath. “Our ability to consciously remember something is not necessarily the same as our ability to respond to something based on learning.”
Jennifer's eyes went wide as she caught on. “He's right. The emotional system of the brain is one of the most powerful learning systems that we have, but it's an implicit learning system. Think of it as our 'how to' memory. How to ride a bike or cook a roast.”
“Or how to respond to a sad or happy event?” Teyla ventured.
“Yes,” Jennifer answered, the whole situation really hitting home. “Those responses don't require conscious thought, but they were based on something in our life and what shaped our response to things like past pleasure or danger.”
“Okay, I'm following you so far,” Lorne said, encouraging them to keep going.
“The next thing to be affected was behavior,” Rodney begun. “Sheppard's ability to regulate his emotions. Fear, anger, sadness. You get the picture.”
“Judgment and impulse control,” Woolsey jumped in.
“Exactly. And now we're getting into the things that separate us from other mammals,” Rodney added.
“Imagination and abstract thought. Our creative side and ability to think on a higher level. Problem solving.” Jennifer walked in a half circle in nervous energy. “And it could spread further.”
“It shouldn’t,” Rodney argued.
“Why?” Woolsey asked.
“Because all those things have one thing in common.” Rodney looked to his team. “Our personality. We're all built up by our patterns of thoughts, feelings, and behavior.”
“Someone wants to be Sheppard,” Ronon said unconvinced.
Rodney, of all of them, should have seen it. “Or they want to experience what it's like to be human.”
---
Rodney stood inside the electromagnetic field with Ten. Just the two of them. Having anyone else with him would've been counterproductive. He was the one who had insisted they bring Ten to Atlantis. He was the one who spent all his time with him. He was the one who had this...this connection.
Now find a way to use it asshole, he berated himself.
“You know?” Ten asked.
“I do.”
Ten sat in his corner, giant knees bent upward for his arms to rest on top. It was the definition of sullen. “I was going to tell you.”
Of all the excuses! Rodney's blood boiled. “When? When Sheppard died?”
Ten's head whirred up, blue orbs midnight blue. “No! He shouldn't be sick. He should be...”
“Functional?”
“He should be fine.”
There had been all these subtle clues Rodney had missed. The sudden use of contractions. The physical gesture of support when he'd been upset. The more human change in word choice. All that damn pacing-one of the biggest signs of anxiety. But now wasn't the time for guilt.
“If he's supposed to be fine, why is he dying?”
Ten clutched his legs closer to his chest, his blocky metal knees touching the wires poking out of his chest plate. A child inside an android’s body. “I don't know.”
“You don't know?” Rodney echoed.
“The program was designed to copy and translate his DNA.”
“You mean his operating system?” Ten averted his gaze. “How nice of you to use terms we know. Or should I say that Sheppard knows.” But berating and snapping wouldn't help matters and Rodney reigned in his emotions. “How did you do it?”
“Those who built me had conducted research into mechanical technology on the microscopic level. It was one of the ways they fused organic and artificial material in the A.I's of the later versions of my model. The research from the network was wiped away, but I rebuilt the mainframe piece by piece.” He shrugged, shoulders hissing. “I had decades. When your team arrived, it only took a few hours to create such a simple program.”
“When did you infect him?”
“Inside the fighter ship. Fur provided an unexpected distraction. It was...it was too hard to pass up. I did not anticipate Sheppard hitting his head, but it provided me an even easier opportunity to insert the virus.” Ten held his pinky finger in the air and a filament extended from the tip. “It was painless.”
Like hell it was.
“Unexpected? You just happened to walk around with a personality stealing virus?” It was an impossible test of wills to keep from exploding. “What was the point? You woke up one day and decided you wanted to see what it was like to feel all of those fantastic, annoying emotions? That sounds like the bad plot of every Star Trek episode.”
“I was left on the outpost because I did not prove as effective as my predecessors. I was created to help humans. All I wanted was to fulfill my objectives. When I was unable to, I felt…incomplete.” Ten played idly with one of his wires. “Do you feel anything when you throw away a computer?
“What? No.”
“It is a difficult thing not to achieve what you were programmed for. I knew one day I would serve humans once again. When your team arrived, I saw my next opportunity.” Ten stretched his neck out to look closer, eyes a deep sea blue. “I wanted to emulate you more and interact seamlessly. And if I acted less like a machine, maybe it would make it harder to depose of me the next time.”
Rodney was taken aback, his mind buzzing with countless questions. “Why him?” He wasn't sure why he wanted to know. “I mean...I thought...” God, was he jealous or something?
“You talked and acted like those who designed me. He didn't.” Rodney didn't understand and it must have been written all over his face. Ten tilted his head. “He spoke volumes without talking. Expressing one emotion while hiding another. He assigned a personality to the fighter ship, calling it a her.” Soft blue eyes became brilliant turquoise. “And...and he told me he would teach me to fly.”
“Of course. He charmed you. But guess what? You took that all away from him,” Rodney snarled. Ten fidgeted, joints hissing. “Help me. Tell me how to fix him.”
“I don't know how.”
“Your virus did more than copy his cells. Didn't it?”
“The programming provoked the desired areas of his brain in order to map and understand the responses before copying could take place.”
“You had to overstimulate each area to get enough data.” Rodney purposely moved closer to stand over the android. “The virus copied the results, but how did you receive the information?” Ten didn't response. Frustration and lack of sleep boiled over and he kicked Ten's leg. “Answer me!”
“Once the virus was inserted, it acted like a probe, stimulating and copying. Once that was complete, it would transmit the information and short out sequentially.”
No wonder it'd been nearly impossible to detect.
“Like a wireless network,” he mumbled. Staring back up at Ten, it was hard to control his own anger. “Tell me how to stop and reverse it.”
Ten pulled back further at being yelled at. “I don't know. I did not anticipate any damage or I wouldn't have initiated the program.”
“You want to be human? Learn from your mistake! Things don't always go according to plan, but you're still expected to fix things.”
Rising, hydraulics clicking loudly, Ten stood and walked passed him. “I don't know. I must attend to Fur.”
Rodney was beside himself. “You're blowing me off? Of course you are, because that's a very Sheppard thing to do when forced to face things you don’t want. But you're not getting away that easily.” Ten continued ignoring him. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to fix him.”
“You can't. He's dying.”
Spinning around, Ten's body vibrated, spitting out some very familiar words. “I won't let him die.”
-----
Rodney ran all the way back to the infirmary, fully aware his conversation with Ten had been seen live through a security feed. Not waiting to catch his breath, he made his way over to Jennifer's work area, pulling up Sheppard's latest scans.
“Rodney, what are you doing?” Jennifer asked following him.
“Finding answers. This ceased being your field of expertise and became mine.”
“But you didn't learn anything.”
“No, I confirmed a theory,” he answered without taking his eyes away from the computer screen.
“Which means we have a narrower focus in which to investigate now.”
“Rodney.”
“You don't understand. What you think is damage I believe is a break down or a type of short circuit. Maybe just a temporary shut down.”
“I don't-”
“Jennifer, listen to me,” he beseeched. “Sheppard's brain has been overwhelmed, but maybe the results are not destructive. You said the hyperactivity has caused the proteins and synapses to become inactive. What if it's a simple case of them shutting down?”
“You mean like faulty lock and key?” This time it was Jennifer who smiled at having to explain something. “Neurotransmitters fit into receptor sites on the neuron like keys into a lock. If the key doesn't fit, nothing happens; likewise, if the receptor site is blocked, nothing happens.”
“And things simply shut down?”
“Exactly.” But her excitement fizzled. “That doesn't change the fact that according to Ten, all of the stuff missing from John has been transferred away. There's nothing left.”
Rodney held up his finger in triumph. “But there is. A transfer means taking something from one place to another. Ten has all of John's missing...well, his missing data. We just need to get it back.”
Jennifer tensed, her face crestfallen. “It might be too late.”
“What? It's...it's never too late.”
“Woolsey wants me to use an EP field to destroy the virus.”
“But they're not nanites!” Rodney snapped. Why did everyone have to make such idiotic decisions?
“He feels they're close enough, and if the pulse disables them, then it impedes any further damage.”
It was déjà vu all over again-the argument over Elizabeth. One that Sheppard had been against.
“No. They're the only things that might be able to save Sheppard.”
“How?”
He felt a swell of adrenaline in his chest and he met Jennifer's intense gaze. “By having them give back what they took.”
“If anyone can find a way, it's you.” But once again, her optimism was short-lived. “While you were speaking with Ten, the colonel had another seizure. A bad one.”
Why couldn't they catch a break?
Rodney braced himself. “How bad?”
“We're still studying the results, but if the virus was targeting areas of personality, it's off course now, randomly effecting different parts of his brain.”
“But...”
“It's only a matter of time until it effects motor control, and then his body will eventually forget how to function.”
---
“Conclusion”