Supply and Demand: Stolen Part 7/10 (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)
Supply and Demand: Stolen Part 7/10 (SPN/SGA AU Crossover)
Author: Tari_Roo
Rating: PG13 (Gen)
Fandom: SPN/SGA
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing. Although if I had my way Sheppard and co would still on screen, Mitchell would have joined Atlantis and Dean and Sam would be shirtless more often.
Summary: SGA/SPN Crossover AU. When an impossibly locked door is keeping the Trust from treasures unknown, they arrange to steal an Empath so that their Kinetics can ‘crack the safe’. Unfortunately for Dean, he’s the unlucky Empath and the safe is in Pegasus.
Spoilers: set post Season 5 of SGA and assumes Atlantis returned to Pegasus, post ep 100 and AU for SPN (all seasons, spoilers abound)
Chapter 7
The sounds of someone humming offkey roused Dean and he blinked and squinted against the bright early morning sunlight. The infirmary was quiet with the soft murmurs of nurses and patients, the smell of breakfast in the air. Dean rolled over, stretching lazily but mindful of his ribs, the sharp pull of protesting muscles. He looked up at the high ceiling, dark blue like the night sky. He didn’t have a window, but the one in the Colonel’s section was open. There were no seagulls, no birds at all outside, none of the old Earth clichés. It didn’t sound like the seaside and Atlantis wasn’t rocking in the swell of the ocean like some pleasure cruise, but it felt very far from home. Atlantis. What he wouldn’t give to see Sam’s face when he found out.
A balding man was talking with the Colonel, their voices low but as Dean lay there, he listened in. True to Murphy’s Law, the moment he did, he realised they were talking about him.
“My interrogation sessions have confirmed your theory, Colonel. He was a prisoner, kidnapped from Earth. So I agree, it would not do to incarcerate him with them.”
Dean’s skin crawled at the idea of being lumped in with the prisoners. Sheppard’s words did a lot of calm his nerves but not entirely. “I’d say it’d be damn idiotic, sir. Whether they were the ones abusing him or not, they were complicit.”
Not wanting to alert them to his eavesdropping, Dean didn’t turn to look at them. He didn’t need to see their faces to tell what they were feeling. Woolsey said calmly, “If anything we have an obligation to protect him.”
Huh? Dean pursed his lips. Protect? He could damn well take care of himself. Usually.
Woolsey continued, “I share your concern that there is more going on here than an expedition. They have ships with intergalactic hyperdrives. That alone is worrying. What if they ran into the Wraith? Earth would be at risk. And they are well prepared and stocked. They even abducted an Empath and that takes planning. It feels... big. We need to be cautious.”
Sheppard sounded relaxed, for the topic, and said, “I am more than worried. I feel like we’ve stumbled onto something huge, dangerous. For us and Earth.”
Woolsey hmmed in agreement and Dean could hear him shuffle his feet. He felt worried, anxious. “Then we are agreed. I will return to questioning the prisoners. Mr Winchester will remain in your custody. I have a scheduled dial in to the SGC later this morning. My coded message will be sent to a secure recipient. We can’t take any chances. Hopefully the SGC will be able to root out their mole, before word leaks back to the Trust.”
Belatedly, caught up in eavesdropping and the men’s emotions, Dean realised there was a stream of amused watchfulness from next to him and he looked over to see Ronon in a chair, boneless and relaxed. A guard? Before the spike of anger could solidify, Ronon straightened now that Dean’s attention was on him and said, “Hungry?”
Dinner last night had been awesome. Burgers and fries. The meat on the bun hadn’t been beef, too gamey for cow but so delicious. The fries were too dense for potato, but two burgers later and an entire conversation, mostly Teyla, about Human Ancients, Stargates and alien space vampires, Dean had fallen asleep with a full stomach. McKay’s snooze fest on the physics of wormholes had been the push off the cliff of unconsciousness he needed. The man could talk nonstop. About anything.
The thought of breakfast was a signal to his stomach, and it growled like dinner had been days ago, not hours. Ronon smiled. The H&K was still on the tray next to him, and Dean remembered Teyla’s smile and promise and figured even if Ronon was his guard, he was better of ... so far.
So Dean growled verbally as well, “Hell, yeah.” Ronon stood, looking like he’d happily hunt down breakfast and slaughter it if need be. Woolsey and Sheppard had concluded their discussion and as Woolsey left, he nodded at Dean. Sheppard was inching his way off his bed, a little shaky but faking fine. He made his way over and Dean sat up, unable to stop the worry that blossomed inside. Get a grip, Winchester.
Ronon drawled lazily, “You look like shit.”
And Sheppard did. One eye was still swollen shut, and his mouth looked red and raw, lip scabbed over. Bruised and stiff, his smile was more a grimace and brief, but Sheppard said brightly, “So no different than usual?” Turning more to Dean, he sighed, “You probably heard all that?”
Dean nodded. Sheppard shrugged, barely, “Well, when you feel up to it, any intel you got - any - would be appreciated. But after breakfast. I could eat a horse... Let’s book it before Carson figures out our plan.”
No one offered to help Dean off the bed, for which he was grateful. He really didn’t like being touched - hot alien chicks aside. He was wearing scrubs, as was Sheppard and Ronon tossed them both loose BDU tops. Refusing to acknowledge the worry of meeting people, of being in a big room with lots of eyes and whispers, Dean focused on the promise of food, and being free.
It was enough.
Sheppard and Ronon led the way, talking quietly, letting Dean set the tourist pace. The corridors, wide and narrow, were quiet, so it was either very early or very late. Did Atlantis have a 24 hour day? Longer or shorter? What year was it here? Did they have a time difference to Earth? Was it winter or summer, or neither? Letting the questions flow, content to stare and wonder, Dean followed along quietly, nodding at the odd person who passed them. Turned out it was late, the mess hall was empty, the kitchen running low.
But being the Boss meant fresh eggs, hot crispy bacon whipped up and toast prepared. And being with the Boss meant there were no questions. Teyla was waiting for them at the large table, and something sad and disappointed settled inside Dean when he saw the toddler perched on her lap. Whatever ridiculous notions and hopes he had of getting laid dried up. His dry spell was going to last just that little bit longer. The kid was cute, sure, but loud and was bashing a spoon on a bowl of porridge.
There were other women on Atlantis though and Dean weighed his disappointment against the possibility of a one night stand with a hot Marine Chick and reckoned he had good odds. There were all sorts of rumours about Empaths he could capitalise on with an adventurous woman. And considering the women on Atlantis were a billion light years from home, they were pretty damn adventurous as is. All was not lost.
Sheppard ambled over to her table, smiling at both mother and son, “Hey, squirt. You giving your mom grief?”
Teyla smiled, “Grief, no. But meals should not take two hours. His porridge is now cold.”
“But that’s the best way to have porridge, mom!” Sheppard whined, poking a finger at the kid’s stomach, making him giggle. “That way your missiles of porridge doom fly a lot further.”
“Don’t give him ideas, John.”
As Ronon brought over two heavy trays loaded with food, Dean sat down gingerly next to Sheppard. His own spike of disappointment had masked the stream of emotion from Sheppard, and it was only as he packed away his own, with promises of future conquests, that Dean noticed. Noticed the longing ‘want’ from Sheppard.
It wasn’t lust, or love, or even hurt. Just longing. Dean’d have to feel it out, go for depth if he was going to figure out if it was Teyla, or the kid or just the idea of family that had Sheppard pining. But that emo crap was off limits as far as he was concerned. Just because he could do it, didn’t mean he should. For months Sam had made his own stomach roil with want every time a blonde chick walked past after Jessica’s death. Oh, Dean couldn’t wait to get his walls 100% again.
Luckily the food was hot and distracting enough for both Dean and Sheppard. Ronon came back with his own tray, top heavy and ridiculous in its portions. Sheppard picked up a long greasy streak of bacon and chomped happily, making the kid smile and giggle again. Teyla swiftly used the distraction to insert another mouthful.
“Good, huh?” Sheppard said to the kid.
And it was good, Dean thought. The eggs were odd, but fantastic, light and fluffy. The bacon was more fried ham than anything else, and had a different taste. A good taste. The toast and maple syrup though were pieces of home, thick and sticky.
The distraction of two Uncles making faces at him was enough that the kid finished his bowl of cold oats. Teyla let him bash away on the empty bowl, sipping her coffee. Dean was staring at her cup with real greed when McKay plopped his own tray on the formica and sat down with a “Took you long enough!”
Sheppard mumbled around a mouthful of eggs, “First or second?”
McKay looked up from empting a second sugar packet into his coffee and said, “What, breakfast?”
“Yes,” John sighed, mopping yolk with his toast. McKay declined to answer, sipping his coffee with feigned indifference. Sheppard rolled his eyes, “What, you emulating hobbits, now Rodney?”
Dean and Ronon grinned, while Teyla rescued her boy’s spoon from ending up in Ronon’s eggs. McKay huffed, and started to eat, replying around mouthfuls of food. “First, I am going to ignore that. Second, Sam and Frodo saved the day, the world! And third, your hair looks like rats have evicted the birds and built a condo.”
Sheppard idly patted his long hair, trying to flatten it, not looking entirely bothered. McKay bit out, “Isn’t it time you got it cut? I seem to recall some regulation, somewhere?”
Ronon threw back his long dreads, as if daring anyone to regulate him but Sheppard deadpanned, “I’m waiting to see how long it takes Landry to say something, or for his twitch to spread to his mouth. Or for the Marines to take matters into their own hands. Again.”
Running a hand through his own longer than he liked hair, Dean continued to watch the two cups of coffee with silent longing, steadily decimating his pile of food. “Ha!” McKay exclaimed, “More like you’re too lazy to go see Sergeant Hair.”
“O’Hare, McKay.”
McKay jabbed a maple syrup’ed bacon streak at Sheppard and laughed, “You don’t give a man named O’Hare barber shop duty and not expect the Sergeant Hair jokes. I personally think you did it on purpose. It’s probably why you haven’t gone, yet. The man can’t even buzzcut Marines to save his life. Last Jarhead I saw looked like a demented hamster had gnawed on his hair.”
Sheppard declined to answer, cleaning his plate instead with the last of his toast. A large cup of steaming, hot black coffee plopped itself down in front of both Sheppard and Dean. Winchester looked up a Ronon, who was daring him to smile with a ‘I did it because you Earthlings are weak and pathetic’ look.
Hell, who cared about Teyla! Ronon was the new love of his life! Dean sipped the hot liquid, uncaring that it was too hot, almost too bitter and thick. It was heaven in a cup. He purred, “Man, I missed you. Thanks, dude.”
A general air of contentment settled over them all and Sheppard sipped his own cup, quietly raiding Rodney’s pile of sugar packets. He was watching Torren munch on a stolen piece of toast from Rodney’s plate as he said, “So, you up for a chat?”
Dean nodded, more than happy to spill whatever beans he had. They weren’t a lot, but hopefully they’d help.
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*
Dr Lars Vuuren, Personal Log No 473:
This will be my last entry for a while as I have had to either postpone or terminate all of my current experiments in order to deal with an emergent crisis. I rather overdramatically feared that this day would come as in the course of my life things have never run smooth. My marker is being called and I must render assistance to some ‘colleagues’ I would not otherwise acknowledge.
I made contact with Mr Red in the holding cells last night and have proceeded as instructed. In the next few hours he will have his distraction. I however, have covered my bases. This personal log will be deleted from the Atlantis mainframe, and a copy placed in my backup kit. All other vital information and research into nanites and AI has either been burned or copied into the same backup.
I plan on being severely injured in the ensuing chaos, thus assuring that my part in this debacle is never known and as Mr Red only knows me as Four 1, and did not see my face, I feel confident that my bases are covered.
The Trust may have pulled a few strings to get me and my research onto Atlantis, but my loyalty is to no one, least of all the Trust. I personally hope that Colonel Sheppard stops them cold. And dead. Very dead. And lets the Wraith have them.
Wish me luck, Four 2.
Close
--
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*
Rodney was getting just a little tired of all the whispering. The rumour mill on Atlantis was unparalleled in speed and accuracy, even compared to Siberia. With such a limited population and source for speculation, gossip and slander it was inevitable that the grape vine often outstripped the comm. The further away from home you where, the more there was to gossip about.
Naturally recent events had everyone abuzz, an actual Trust op in Pegasus, actual Kinetics, an actual Empath. No matter how confidential Woolsey may have wanted to keep everything, all it took was one Marine who owed someone a favour, a determined hacker (or system administrator) and the cat was not only out of the bag, but it was down the street, stealing milk and yowling at the neighbours.
Damn, Rodney missed his cat.
It didn’t help that the Empath, Dean, looked like well... that. All handsome and rugged and in need of a good meal. Like a stray cat. Usually Zelenka was right there with him in despairing over their colleagues’, male and female, need for juicy gossip. But today everyone, including Zelenka, were huddled over a tablet with illegal security feed of you know who and Rodney had had enough.
“Enough!”
See, enough.
Standing to his impressive ‘but only amongst this crowd’ height, McKay slammed down his coffee cup, ignoring the wave of precious liquid that spilled over onto his notes and yelled, “This is not E! On Atlantis and you have work to do! Important Planet Saving Work! Ok, not so much you, Dr Grant, but really, could you be more redundant? Not the point! Get back to work!”
Reluctantly, like nerds leaving a comic book sale with only half of the missing issues they wanted, the white coats parted and returned to their important work, bar Dr Grant who left in a huff. Rodney sat down with practiced calm, refusing to be annoyed about the coffee, ignoring the death glares and/or looks of adoration.
“What alien bug crawled up your butt, Rodney?” Zelenka appeared at his elbow with the stealth of a hobbit and damn Sheppard for making him think in LOTR metaphors! McKay swivelled on his stool and stared down his nose at the Czech. “Oh, so you don’t think that a bunch of grown men and women sniggering and giggling like twelve year olds about some halfwit c-list wannabe is appropriate?”
Zelenka shrugged, “No matter your disdain, Rodney, most of us non-Americans have never even seen an Empath’s picture, let alone one in person. You can be as dismissive as you usually are, and we are perhaps a little too excited, but it does not change the fact that Dean Winchester is fascinating.”
McKay humphed and returned to his simulations, deigning to respond. Zelenka stared at McKay, then stared at his screen and the coffee spill. Sighing, Radek shook his head, hair flying around. “Perhaps if you were not so overly concerned over innocent gossip, you would have noticed that that Z should have been an N.”
Glaring at both screen and Czech, McKay snarled in denial but hastily corrected his error. Swivelling again to lambast Zelenka and reduce him to tears or apoplexy, whichever came first, Rodney opened his mouth just as Dr Misaki ran past the open door to the lab screaming, “Replicators!” And Sheppard said he had Flappy Hands of Doom! Ha!
His cry of ‘Replicators, Replicators’ echoed down the corridor and as good, well trained civilians aboard an often dangerous alien city, the lab cleared swiftly out of the other door. But as well trained leaders, busy bodies and know it alls, Zelenka and McKay ran for the door, towards the supposed replicators.
“Why in the hell doesn’t that moron use his comm?” McKay yelled, even as he tapped his. Turning the corner, his cool, smooth, in control report to Control turned into a squeak of, “Shit! Milkyway Replicator Bugs!”
The corridor, walls and ceilings were covered in the skittering machines, all heading for Rodney and Rodney’s lab. Zelenka was retreating, jabbering his own report to Control but McKay had the presence of mind to switch to the command comm. and yell, “Sheppard! Get your scrawny butt up here! I am not losing my lab!”
AR weapons had limited use on the damn things unless you managed to get them all in one shot. Hard, live ammunition was the next best bet, but Rodney had neither AR weapons or machine guns in the lab. So, in desperation, Rodney closed the door to the lab, just as the first replicator bug reached it.
Making a mental note to insist on all labs being stocked with mini armouries, McKay backed away from the door as the Replicators began to eat their way through. As fascinating as it was to note that these Replicators were bluish in colour, like the walls of Atlantis, Rodney looked around the lab for something to throw at them. No way was he backing down. This would be his Thermopylae, although with less pronounced abdominal muscles. His Alamo, but a Canadian vs Horde of Replicators. His...
As Rodney struggled to think of another famous last stand that wasn’t Custer, because he refused to utilise the American cliché, Ronon arrived. With Dean Winchester in tow.
On the upside they had guns. On the down side, Winchester had a gun.
“Code Red Underpants is code for Alien Space Bugs?” Dean said to Zelenka, who looked flustered at the arrival of his mini-man crush.
Check that, they didn’t just have guns, they had big damn machine guns and Rodney wanted one. “Less chatter, start shooting. Save the research!”
Ronon never needed to be asked twice to shoot something and he let rip with his usual accuracy. The sound was intense in the small room, the flash and smell of carbine rank. Winchester was pretty good too and their concentrated fire on the door beat the bugs back, leaving one huge gaping hole and several dozen smaller ones. And a lot of Replicator blocks.
Ears ringing in the silence, Rodney stood up from behind his station, laptop in his arms and he yelled, “Nice! Deafen me some more, Conan!”
Ronon cleared the chamber, slammed in another clip and smiled. Zelenka stood up from behind his own impromptu cover and he was still jabbering away on the radio. Rodney poked at an ear with one hand and yelled, “Where’s Sheppard and Marines? And why is Mr Feelings running around with an M4?”
Dean flipped him off even as he grinned wildly, but Ronon answered, “You weren’t the first Replicator report. Comms are iffy, citywide is down. Sheppard is arming everyone, the space bugs are everywhere.”
Nodding and shaking his head, in agreement, denial and trying to clear his hearing, McKay shouted, “Where the hell did they come from?”
“The Milkway?”
Rodney was about reply with a carefully worded retort, one designed not to antagonise the Barbarian when the rapid fire skitter of returning Replicators had him dropping to the floor as Ronon and Winchester opened fire.
The Replicators poured through the hole, but Dean moved over to pin them in a crossfire with Ronon and the hail of gunfire filled the room with smoke and the sound of falling shell casings. McKay hunched over and hoped the next thing he felt wasn’t a Replicator ripping off his face, feeling he like was in that scene in the Matrix. Ronon’s M4 did not have limitless ammo, but they timed their reloads to cover each other and McKay prayed the noise would just end.
Eventually, it did, and he poked his head up to see a grim faced, or at least half of his face grim, the other bruised and ugly, Sheppard in the hall outside. The hole in the door was a lot bigger and McKay could see that Sheppard had on a tac vest and crap load of ammo, and several overly excited Marines behind him.
“You ok?” he yelled.
McKay nodded and Ronon grinned, evilly. “Come on, they’re trying to get to the Tower. We need to keep them in this building,” Sheppard barked.
McKay gave his precious laptop to Zelenka, impressed upon him the importance of keeping it safe over his own life with one firm look and ran over to get his own M4 from a Marine. Resupplying quickly, Sheppard shot a look at Ronon and Dean and said gruffly, “You head up to the overpass connecting the buildings and hold the line there with Winchester. Don’t let them through, Chewy.”
Ronon nodded and ran off with Winchester. Rodney, tac vest on, M4 in hand took a second to catch John’s gaze and quipped, “Really? Arming the Empath who may or may not be on our side?”
Sheppard sighed, “He’s with us. And we need every able body. Lorne’s checking on the prisoners but with the fritzing comm., this and well... everything, I have a very bad feeling.”
“I wish you hadn’t said that!”
In the quiet of the shell-shocked lab, Zelenka watched McKay run off, still arguing with Sheppard. Putting McKay’s laptop down with less care than Rodney would have liked, Radek picked up a chair, opened his laptop and got to work.
There was a comm. to unfritz and Replicators to counter. Picking up a broken replicator block, Radek began scanning for their frequency, even as he worked on the comm. Not everyone had to run off like Rambo to save the day.
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*
This City rocked. It was like his top five sci fi movies all rolled into one and he had an M4. He was so moving in.
Ronon’s whistle-stop tour of Atlantis, and that never got less crazy, had been interrupted by screaming scientists. Following orders came natural in a crisis and the appeal of weapons was appealing... so Ronon and Dean had been close enough to the armoury to be sent out in the first wave of backup, and the number of armed civilians shooting at space robot bugs was utterly surreal. Throw in the trigger happy Marines and he and Ronon had to go ‘look’ for bugs of their own.
Luckily McKay had squealed over the comm. and they had gone running. Ronon’s explanation was typically brief. Robots. Bad. Shoot them. Sheppard’s orders over the broken, static comm. had been slightly less cryptic but the comm. had sounded a lot like an EMF reader on the trail of the mother of all poltergeists, so wasn’t all that helpful.
The run up to the connecting overhang wasn’t far, but between the tac vest, bruises and cracked ribs, Dean was hurting. But the sweet surge of blessed adrenalin, of a fight with guns and friggin space bug robots was more than enough to tide him over. The overwhelming atmosphere of controlled panic, determined adrenalin and fear was dizzying, but Dean did what came naturally. He tamped down the fear, encouraged confidence, and steadied nerves. Folks who ran past Ronon and Dean on their way to safety all left feeling a little calmer, more determined. Marine’s heading into the warzone perked up with confidence and certainity.
The odd errant metal bug or two kept Dean and Ronon entertained as they covered the corridor, taking turns to blow the creepy things up. Teyla soon joined them, her hair wild and undone, tac vest tight. “The comms are down,” she gasped breathlessly and they both nodded.
Her explanation was a little more detailed. “These robots were a menace to the Asgard galaxy. SG1 assisted Thor in destroying them before they conquered your home galaxy. But a year ago, maybe longer, it emerged that the IOA had kept some for study.” Teyla’s explanation may have been more detailed but it didn’t make a lot of sense. Thor? Seriously?
The city wide channel suddenly boomed into life and an accented voice babbled loudly, “Jamming signal is coming from Replicators. Replicators themselves have no AI. I repeat, no AI!”
Dean looked at Ronon, who looked at Teyla, who rolled her eyes. “They are not sentient, or intelligent. What else that means...”
The little sounding but now booming voice was back. “Comms are momentarily up. Colonel Sheppard needs everyone to check...”
Another voice, deeper, more stressed, sounding like the man speaking was running, interrupted over the City-wide. “Lorne here. Trust prisoners have escaped. Replicators took out the guards and cells. Heading for Gate Room.”
Ronon took off, Teyla close behind, yelling at Dean as she did, “We are closer. Come!” Dean needed no second invitation, taking off at a punishing run, ignoring the scream of his chest and lungs. Absently he sent out a feeler towards the Infirmary and reassured himself that Taylor and Hughes were still there. They were, their unconscious, comatose minds unresponsive. Dean pushed on, just making the door as they stepped into a transporter.
They emerged within seconds into a firefight. Ducking for cover, Dean spotted the distinctive uniforms of the mercenaries, and the smooth bald head of Augusto. The Trust personnel had secured the entrance to the Gate Room, and were firing on the Marines in the proper and galleries with stolen stunners and P90s.
Teyla hissed over the sound of returning fire, “They are trapped. They cannot open the Gate without gaining the...”
The distinctive sound of the Gate activating stopped her cold, and she stared in amazed horror at the symbols lighting up on the Gate. “How?”
Ronon grunted, “Who cares. They are doing it. We need to stop them.”
The enveloping whoosh of space water was cover enough for the Trust mercenaries to storm the Gate Room, firing on the Marines and staff. Everyone else acted fast, running for the wormhole and diving through. Augusto, Russo, Messer, all of them ran into the portal, only the straggler mercs and odd scientist falling foul of the Marine’s answering volleys. But the damage was done. Most of the Trust people had escaped, leaving behind wounded or dead comrades, and massive damage in their wake.
Over the PA, the accented excited voice exclaimed, “Got it!”
The screech of returning comm. feedback made even Dean wince and he didn’t have a radio. The flurry of answering voices and demands for information were cut short by Sheppard’s bark, “Clear the comms! Report, Gate Room.”
A stunned technician on the gallery stammered, “The Trust had a .. a.. bastardised Jumper DHD. They dialled out, Colonel. The Gate is still active.”
Sheppard sounded pissed, “Radek! The replicators are down, did you do that?”
“Yes, Colonel,” replied the voice sounding very pleased with himself. “They were not true Replicators, but were programmed. Ah... decoys only with goals to achieve.”
Distraction. It ran through everyone’s minds and then Ronon was running towards the still active Gate. “We gotta go after them.” The few Marines left in the Gate Room seemed keen, but hesitant and one of them tapped the comm., “Sir, Lieutenant Kim here. Permission to pursue escapees.”
“Do it, but just hold the Gate on the other side. Wait for us.”
Kim nodded at the order and the Marines checked weapons and were ready to go. Sheppard sounded liked he was running as he barked, “Ronon. Don’t do anything until I get there. Chuck! You sure it’s not a space gate or Wraith planet?”
Chuck, the technician from before nodded absently, his hands flying over the controls. “It’s a visited world, sir. Ancient ruins, no Wraith.”
“Go!”
Ronon did, the Marines close behind. Teyla barely smiled as Dean moved with her and no one else said anything and for the second time, Dean stepped through the Stargate.
Man, I love this place.
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*
In the aftermath of the Replicator attack as Colonel Sheppard and Major Lorne ran to recapture the Trust people, Carson and Keller sent out teams of medical personnel to treat the wounded now that the panic was over.
The Marine Corporal and Private on guard duty in the holding cells were dead, as where three more Marines in the city, overwhelmed by Replicators and eviscerated. Civilian casualties were minor, mostly limited to science staff as they fled the sections of the Atlantis under attack.
As Major Teldy led the detail to double check that no Replicator had escaped or hid in a duct or storage space, she discovered the only civilian casualty. Dr Lars Vuuren’s body was sprawled cloe to his lab, ripped up by Replicators but there was no mistaking the gunshot to the head.
“Mr Woolsey, sir? We have a problem.”
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*
Teaser Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Epilogue
Background blurb
Author: Tari_Roo
Rating: PG13 (Gen)
Fandom: SPN/SGA
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing. Although if I had my way Sheppard and co would still on screen, Mitchell would have joined Atlantis and Dean and Sam would be shirtless more often.
Summary: SGA/SPN Crossover AU. When an impossibly locked door is keeping the Trust from treasures unknown, they arrange to steal an Empath so that their Kinetics can ‘crack the safe’. Unfortunately for Dean, he’s the unlucky Empath and the safe is in Pegasus.
Spoilers: set post Season 5 of SGA and assumes Atlantis returned to Pegasus, post ep 100 and AU for SPN (all seasons, spoilers abound)
Chapter 7
The sounds of someone humming offkey roused Dean and he blinked and squinted against the bright early morning sunlight. The infirmary was quiet with the soft murmurs of nurses and patients, the smell of breakfast in the air. Dean rolled over, stretching lazily but mindful of his ribs, the sharp pull of protesting muscles. He looked up at the high ceiling, dark blue like the night sky. He didn’t have a window, but the one in the Colonel’s section was open. There were no seagulls, no birds at all outside, none of the old Earth clichés. It didn’t sound like the seaside and Atlantis wasn’t rocking in the swell of the ocean like some pleasure cruise, but it felt very far from home. Atlantis. What he wouldn’t give to see Sam’s face when he found out.
A balding man was talking with the Colonel, their voices low but as Dean lay there, he listened in. True to Murphy’s Law, the moment he did, he realised they were talking about him.
“My interrogation sessions have confirmed your theory, Colonel. He was a prisoner, kidnapped from Earth. So I agree, it would not do to incarcerate him with them.”
Dean’s skin crawled at the idea of being lumped in with the prisoners. Sheppard’s words did a lot of calm his nerves but not entirely. “I’d say it’d be damn idiotic, sir. Whether they were the ones abusing him or not, they were complicit.”
Not wanting to alert them to his eavesdropping, Dean didn’t turn to look at them. He didn’t need to see their faces to tell what they were feeling. Woolsey said calmly, “If anything we have an obligation to protect him.”
Huh? Dean pursed his lips. Protect? He could damn well take care of himself. Usually.
Woolsey continued, “I share your concern that there is more going on here than an expedition. They have ships with intergalactic hyperdrives. That alone is worrying. What if they ran into the Wraith? Earth would be at risk. And they are well prepared and stocked. They even abducted an Empath and that takes planning. It feels... big. We need to be cautious.”
Sheppard sounded relaxed, for the topic, and said, “I am more than worried. I feel like we’ve stumbled onto something huge, dangerous. For us and Earth.”
Woolsey hmmed in agreement and Dean could hear him shuffle his feet. He felt worried, anxious. “Then we are agreed. I will return to questioning the prisoners. Mr Winchester will remain in your custody. I have a scheduled dial in to the SGC later this morning. My coded message will be sent to a secure recipient. We can’t take any chances. Hopefully the SGC will be able to root out their mole, before word leaks back to the Trust.”
Belatedly, caught up in eavesdropping and the men’s emotions, Dean realised there was a stream of amused watchfulness from next to him and he looked over to see Ronon in a chair, boneless and relaxed. A guard? Before the spike of anger could solidify, Ronon straightened now that Dean’s attention was on him and said, “Hungry?”
Dinner last night had been awesome. Burgers and fries. The meat on the bun hadn’t been beef, too gamey for cow but so delicious. The fries were too dense for potato, but two burgers later and an entire conversation, mostly Teyla, about Human Ancients, Stargates and alien space vampires, Dean had fallen asleep with a full stomach. McKay’s snooze fest on the physics of wormholes had been the push off the cliff of unconsciousness he needed. The man could talk nonstop. About anything.
The thought of breakfast was a signal to his stomach, and it growled like dinner had been days ago, not hours. Ronon smiled. The H&K was still on the tray next to him, and Dean remembered Teyla’s smile and promise and figured even if Ronon was his guard, he was better of ... so far.
So Dean growled verbally as well, “Hell, yeah.” Ronon stood, looking like he’d happily hunt down breakfast and slaughter it if need be. Woolsey and Sheppard had concluded their discussion and as Woolsey left, he nodded at Dean. Sheppard was inching his way off his bed, a little shaky but faking fine. He made his way over and Dean sat up, unable to stop the worry that blossomed inside. Get a grip, Winchester.
Ronon drawled lazily, “You look like shit.”
And Sheppard did. One eye was still swollen shut, and his mouth looked red and raw, lip scabbed over. Bruised and stiff, his smile was more a grimace and brief, but Sheppard said brightly, “So no different than usual?” Turning more to Dean, he sighed, “You probably heard all that?”
Dean nodded. Sheppard shrugged, barely, “Well, when you feel up to it, any intel you got - any - would be appreciated. But after breakfast. I could eat a horse... Let’s book it before Carson figures out our plan.”
No one offered to help Dean off the bed, for which he was grateful. He really didn’t like being touched - hot alien chicks aside. He was wearing scrubs, as was Sheppard and Ronon tossed them both loose BDU tops. Refusing to acknowledge the worry of meeting people, of being in a big room with lots of eyes and whispers, Dean focused on the promise of food, and being free.
It was enough.
Sheppard and Ronon led the way, talking quietly, letting Dean set the tourist pace. The corridors, wide and narrow, were quiet, so it was either very early or very late. Did Atlantis have a 24 hour day? Longer or shorter? What year was it here? Did they have a time difference to Earth? Was it winter or summer, or neither? Letting the questions flow, content to stare and wonder, Dean followed along quietly, nodding at the odd person who passed them. Turned out it was late, the mess hall was empty, the kitchen running low.
But being the Boss meant fresh eggs, hot crispy bacon whipped up and toast prepared. And being with the Boss meant there were no questions. Teyla was waiting for them at the large table, and something sad and disappointed settled inside Dean when he saw the toddler perched on her lap. Whatever ridiculous notions and hopes he had of getting laid dried up. His dry spell was going to last just that little bit longer. The kid was cute, sure, but loud and was bashing a spoon on a bowl of porridge.
There were other women on Atlantis though and Dean weighed his disappointment against the possibility of a one night stand with a hot Marine Chick and reckoned he had good odds. There were all sorts of rumours about Empaths he could capitalise on with an adventurous woman. And considering the women on Atlantis were a billion light years from home, they were pretty damn adventurous as is. All was not lost.
Sheppard ambled over to her table, smiling at both mother and son, “Hey, squirt. You giving your mom grief?”
Teyla smiled, “Grief, no. But meals should not take two hours. His porridge is now cold.”
“But that’s the best way to have porridge, mom!” Sheppard whined, poking a finger at the kid’s stomach, making him giggle. “That way your missiles of porridge doom fly a lot further.”
“Don’t give him ideas, John.”
As Ronon brought over two heavy trays loaded with food, Dean sat down gingerly next to Sheppard. His own spike of disappointment had masked the stream of emotion from Sheppard, and it was only as he packed away his own, with promises of future conquests, that Dean noticed. Noticed the longing ‘want’ from Sheppard.
It wasn’t lust, or love, or even hurt. Just longing. Dean’d have to feel it out, go for depth if he was going to figure out if it was Teyla, or the kid or just the idea of family that had Sheppard pining. But that emo crap was off limits as far as he was concerned. Just because he could do it, didn’t mean he should. For months Sam had made his own stomach roil with want every time a blonde chick walked past after Jessica’s death. Oh, Dean couldn’t wait to get his walls 100% again.
Luckily the food was hot and distracting enough for both Dean and Sheppard. Ronon came back with his own tray, top heavy and ridiculous in its portions. Sheppard picked up a long greasy streak of bacon and chomped happily, making the kid smile and giggle again. Teyla swiftly used the distraction to insert another mouthful.
“Good, huh?” Sheppard said to the kid.
And it was good, Dean thought. The eggs were odd, but fantastic, light and fluffy. The bacon was more fried ham than anything else, and had a different taste. A good taste. The toast and maple syrup though were pieces of home, thick and sticky.
The distraction of two Uncles making faces at him was enough that the kid finished his bowl of cold oats. Teyla let him bash away on the empty bowl, sipping her coffee. Dean was staring at her cup with real greed when McKay plopped his own tray on the formica and sat down with a “Took you long enough!”
Sheppard mumbled around a mouthful of eggs, “First or second?”
McKay looked up from empting a second sugar packet into his coffee and said, “What, breakfast?”
“Yes,” John sighed, mopping yolk with his toast. McKay declined to answer, sipping his coffee with feigned indifference. Sheppard rolled his eyes, “What, you emulating hobbits, now Rodney?”
Dean and Ronon grinned, while Teyla rescued her boy’s spoon from ending up in Ronon’s eggs. McKay huffed, and started to eat, replying around mouthfuls of food. “First, I am going to ignore that. Second, Sam and Frodo saved the day, the world! And third, your hair looks like rats have evicted the birds and built a condo.”
Sheppard idly patted his long hair, trying to flatten it, not looking entirely bothered. McKay bit out, “Isn’t it time you got it cut? I seem to recall some regulation, somewhere?”
Ronon threw back his long dreads, as if daring anyone to regulate him but Sheppard deadpanned, “I’m waiting to see how long it takes Landry to say something, or for his twitch to spread to his mouth. Or for the Marines to take matters into their own hands. Again.”
Running a hand through his own longer than he liked hair, Dean continued to watch the two cups of coffee with silent longing, steadily decimating his pile of food. “Ha!” McKay exclaimed, “More like you’re too lazy to go see Sergeant Hair.”
“O’Hare, McKay.”
McKay jabbed a maple syrup’ed bacon streak at Sheppard and laughed, “You don’t give a man named O’Hare barber shop duty and not expect the Sergeant Hair jokes. I personally think you did it on purpose. It’s probably why you haven’t gone, yet. The man can’t even buzzcut Marines to save his life. Last Jarhead I saw looked like a demented hamster had gnawed on his hair.”
Sheppard declined to answer, cleaning his plate instead with the last of his toast. A large cup of steaming, hot black coffee plopped itself down in front of both Sheppard and Dean. Winchester looked up a Ronon, who was daring him to smile with a ‘I did it because you Earthlings are weak and pathetic’ look.
Hell, who cared about Teyla! Ronon was the new love of his life! Dean sipped the hot liquid, uncaring that it was too hot, almost too bitter and thick. It was heaven in a cup. He purred, “Man, I missed you. Thanks, dude.”
A general air of contentment settled over them all and Sheppard sipped his own cup, quietly raiding Rodney’s pile of sugar packets. He was watching Torren munch on a stolen piece of toast from Rodney’s plate as he said, “So, you up for a chat?”
Dean nodded, more than happy to spill whatever beans he had. They weren’t a lot, but hopefully they’d help.
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*
Dr Lars Vuuren, Personal Log No 473:
This will be my last entry for a while as I have had to either postpone or terminate all of my current experiments in order to deal with an emergent crisis. I rather overdramatically feared that this day would come as in the course of my life things have never run smooth. My marker is being called and I must render assistance to some ‘colleagues’ I would not otherwise acknowledge.
I made contact with Mr Red in the holding cells last night and have proceeded as instructed. In the next few hours he will have his distraction. I however, have covered my bases. This personal log will be deleted from the Atlantis mainframe, and a copy placed in my backup kit. All other vital information and research into nanites and AI has either been burned or copied into the same backup.
I plan on being severely injured in the ensuing chaos, thus assuring that my part in this debacle is never known and as Mr Red only knows me as Four 1, and did not see my face, I feel confident that my bases are covered.
The Trust may have pulled a few strings to get me and my research onto Atlantis, but my loyalty is to no one, least of all the Trust. I personally hope that Colonel Sheppard stops them cold. And dead. Very dead. And lets the Wraith have them.
Wish me luck, Four 2.
Close
--
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*
Rodney was getting just a little tired of all the whispering. The rumour mill on Atlantis was unparalleled in speed and accuracy, even compared to Siberia. With such a limited population and source for speculation, gossip and slander it was inevitable that the grape vine often outstripped the comm. The further away from home you where, the more there was to gossip about.
Naturally recent events had everyone abuzz, an actual Trust op in Pegasus, actual Kinetics, an actual Empath. No matter how confidential Woolsey may have wanted to keep everything, all it took was one Marine who owed someone a favour, a determined hacker (or system administrator) and the cat was not only out of the bag, but it was down the street, stealing milk and yowling at the neighbours.
Damn, Rodney missed his cat.
It didn’t help that the Empath, Dean, looked like well... that. All handsome and rugged and in need of a good meal. Like a stray cat. Usually Zelenka was right there with him in despairing over their colleagues’, male and female, need for juicy gossip. But today everyone, including Zelenka, were huddled over a tablet with illegal security feed of you know who and Rodney had had enough.
“Enough!”
See, enough.
Standing to his impressive ‘but only amongst this crowd’ height, McKay slammed down his coffee cup, ignoring the wave of precious liquid that spilled over onto his notes and yelled, “This is not E! On Atlantis and you have work to do! Important Planet Saving Work! Ok, not so much you, Dr Grant, but really, could you be more redundant? Not the point! Get back to work!”
Reluctantly, like nerds leaving a comic book sale with only half of the missing issues they wanted, the white coats parted and returned to their important work, bar Dr Grant who left in a huff. Rodney sat down with practiced calm, refusing to be annoyed about the coffee, ignoring the death glares and/or looks of adoration.
“What alien bug crawled up your butt, Rodney?” Zelenka appeared at his elbow with the stealth of a hobbit and damn Sheppard for making him think in LOTR metaphors! McKay swivelled on his stool and stared down his nose at the Czech. “Oh, so you don’t think that a bunch of grown men and women sniggering and giggling like twelve year olds about some halfwit c-list wannabe is appropriate?”
Zelenka shrugged, “No matter your disdain, Rodney, most of us non-Americans have never even seen an Empath’s picture, let alone one in person. You can be as dismissive as you usually are, and we are perhaps a little too excited, but it does not change the fact that Dean Winchester is fascinating.”
McKay humphed and returned to his simulations, deigning to respond. Zelenka stared at McKay, then stared at his screen and the coffee spill. Sighing, Radek shook his head, hair flying around. “Perhaps if you were not so overly concerned over innocent gossip, you would have noticed that that Z should have been an N.”
Glaring at both screen and Czech, McKay snarled in denial but hastily corrected his error. Swivelling again to lambast Zelenka and reduce him to tears or apoplexy, whichever came first, Rodney opened his mouth just as Dr Misaki ran past the open door to the lab screaming, “Replicators!” And Sheppard said he had Flappy Hands of Doom! Ha!
His cry of ‘Replicators, Replicators’ echoed down the corridor and as good, well trained civilians aboard an often dangerous alien city, the lab cleared swiftly out of the other door. But as well trained leaders, busy bodies and know it alls, Zelenka and McKay ran for the door, towards the supposed replicators.
“Why in the hell doesn’t that moron use his comm?” McKay yelled, even as he tapped his. Turning the corner, his cool, smooth, in control report to Control turned into a squeak of, “Shit! Milkyway Replicator Bugs!”
The corridor, walls and ceilings were covered in the skittering machines, all heading for Rodney and Rodney’s lab. Zelenka was retreating, jabbering his own report to Control but McKay had the presence of mind to switch to the command comm. and yell, “Sheppard! Get your scrawny butt up here! I am not losing my lab!”
AR weapons had limited use on the damn things unless you managed to get them all in one shot. Hard, live ammunition was the next best bet, but Rodney had neither AR weapons or machine guns in the lab. So, in desperation, Rodney closed the door to the lab, just as the first replicator bug reached it.
Making a mental note to insist on all labs being stocked with mini armouries, McKay backed away from the door as the Replicators began to eat their way through. As fascinating as it was to note that these Replicators were bluish in colour, like the walls of Atlantis, Rodney looked around the lab for something to throw at them. No way was he backing down. This would be his Thermopylae, although with less pronounced abdominal muscles. His Alamo, but a Canadian vs Horde of Replicators. His...
As Rodney struggled to think of another famous last stand that wasn’t Custer, because he refused to utilise the American cliché, Ronon arrived. With Dean Winchester in tow.
On the upside they had guns. On the down side, Winchester had a gun.
“Code Red Underpants is code for Alien Space Bugs?” Dean said to Zelenka, who looked flustered at the arrival of his mini-man crush.
Check that, they didn’t just have guns, they had big damn machine guns and Rodney wanted one. “Less chatter, start shooting. Save the research!”
Ronon never needed to be asked twice to shoot something and he let rip with his usual accuracy. The sound was intense in the small room, the flash and smell of carbine rank. Winchester was pretty good too and their concentrated fire on the door beat the bugs back, leaving one huge gaping hole and several dozen smaller ones. And a lot of Replicator blocks.
Ears ringing in the silence, Rodney stood up from behind his station, laptop in his arms and he yelled, “Nice! Deafen me some more, Conan!”
Ronon cleared the chamber, slammed in another clip and smiled. Zelenka stood up from behind his own impromptu cover and he was still jabbering away on the radio. Rodney poked at an ear with one hand and yelled, “Where’s Sheppard and Marines? And why is Mr Feelings running around with an M4?”
Dean flipped him off even as he grinned wildly, but Ronon answered, “You weren’t the first Replicator report. Comms are iffy, citywide is down. Sheppard is arming everyone, the space bugs are everywhere.”
Nodding and shaking his head, in agreement, denial and trying to clear his hearing, McKay shouted, “Where the hell did they come from?”
“The Milkway?”
Rodney was about reply with a carefully worded retort, one designed not to antagonise the Barbarian when the rapid fire skitter of returning Replicators had him dropping to the floor as Ronon and Winchester opened fire.
The Replicators poured through the hole, but Dean moved over to pin them in a crossfire with Ronon and the hail of gunfire filled the room with smoke and the sound of falling shell casings. McKay hunched over and hoped the next thing he felt wasn’t a Replicator ripping off his face, feeling he like was in that scene in the Matrix. Ronon’s M4 did not have limitless ammo, but they timed their reloads to cover each other and McKay prayed the noise would just end.
Eventually, it did, and he poked his head up to see a grim faced, or at least half of his face grim, the other bruised and ugly, Sheppard in the hall outside. The hole in the door was a lot bigger and McKay could see that Sheppard had on a tac vest and crap load of ammo, and several overly excited Marines behind him.
“You ok?” he yelled.
McKay nodded and Ronon grinned, evilly. “Come on, they’re trying to get to the Tower. We need to keep them in this building,” Sheppard barked.
McKay gave his precious laptop to Zelenka, impressed upon him the importance of keeping it safe over his own life with one firm look and ran over to get his own M4 from a Marine. Resupplying quickly, Sheppard shot a look at Ronon and Dean and said gruffly, “You head up to the overpass connecting the buildings and hold the line there with Winchester. Don’t let them through, Chewy.”
Ronon nodded and ran off with Winchester. Rodney, tac vest on, M4 in hand took a second to catch John’s gaze and quipped, “Really? Arming the Empath who may or may not be on our side?”
Sheppard sighed, “He’s with us. And we need every able body. Lorne’s checking on the prisoners but with the fritzing comm., this and well... everything, I have a very bad feeling.”
“I wish you hadn’t said that!”
In the quiet of the shell-shocked lab, Zelenka watched McKay run off, still arguing with Sheppard. Putting McKay’s laptop down with less care than Rodney would have liked, Radek picked up a chair, opened his laptop and got to work.
There was a comm. to unfritz and Replicators to counter. Picking up a broken replicator block, Radek began scanning for their frequency, even as he worked on the comm. Not everyone had to run off like Rambo to save the day.
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*
This City rocked. It was like his top five sci fi movies all rolled into one and he had an M4. He was so moving in.
Ronon’s whistle-stop tour of Atlantis, and that never got less crazy, had been interrupted by screaming scientists. Following orders came natural in a crisis and the appeal of weapons was appealing... so Ronon and Dean had been close enough to the armoury to be sent out in the first wave of backup, and the number of armed civilians shooting at space robot bugs was utterly surreal. Throw in the trigger happy Marines and he and Ronon had to go ‘look’ for bugs of their own.
Luckily McKay had squealed over the comm. and they had gone running. Ronon’s explanation was typically brief. Robots. Bad. Shoot them. Sheppard’s orders over the broken, static comm. had been slightly less cryptic but the comm. had sounded a lot like an EMF reader on the trail of the mother of all poltergeists, so wasn’t all that helpful.
The run up to the connecting overhang wasn’t far, but between the tac vest, bruises and cracked ribs, Dean was hurting. But the sweet surge of blessed adrenalin, of a fight with guns and friggin space bug robots was more than enough to tide him over. The overwhelming atmosphere of controlled panic, determined adrenalin and fear was dizzying, but Dean did what came naturally. He tamped down the fear, encouraged confidence, and steadied nerves. Folks who ran past Ronon and Dean on their way to safety all left feeling a little calmer, more determined. Marine’s heading into the warzone perked up with confidence and certainity.
The odd errant metal bug or two kept Dean and Ronon entertained as they covered the corridor, taking turns to blow the creepy things up. Teyla soon joined them, her hair wild and undone, tac vest tight. “The comms are down,” she gasped breathlessly and they both nodded.
Her explanation was a little more detailed. “These robots were a menace to the Asgard galaxy. SG1 assisted Thor in destroying them before they conquered your home galaxy. But a year ago, maybe longer, it emerged that the IOA had kept some for study.” Teyla’s explanation may have been more detailed but it didn’t make a lot of sense. Thor? Seriously?
The city wide channel suddenly boomed into life and an accented voice babbled loudly, “Jamming signal is coming from Replicators. Replicators themselves have no AI. I repeat, no AI!”
Dean looked at Ronon, who looked at Teyla, who rolled her eyes. “They are not sentient, or intelligent. What else that means...”
The little sounding but now booming voice was back. “Comms are momentarily up. Colonel Sheppard needs everyone to check...”
Another voice, deeper, more stressed, sounding like the man speaking was running, interrupted over the City-wide. “Lorne here. Trust prisoners have escaped. Replicators took out the guards and cells. Heading for Gate Room.”
Ronon took off, Teyla close behind, yelling at Dean as she did, “We are closer. Come!” Dean needed no second invitation, taking off at a punishing run, ignoring the scream of his chest and lungs. Absently he sent out a feeler towards the Infirmary and reassured himself that Taylor and Hughes were still there. They were, their unconscious, comatose minds unresponsive. Dean pushed on, just making the door as they stepped into a transporter.
They emerged within seconds into a firefight. Ducking for cover, Dean spotted the distinctive uniforms of the mercenaries, and the smooth bald head of Augusto. The Trust personnel had secured the entrance to the Gate Room, and were firing on the Marines in the proper and galleries with stolen stunners and P90s.
Teyla hissed over the sound of returning fire, “They are trapped. They cannot open the Gate without gaining the...”
The distinctive sound of the Gate activating stopped her cold, and she stared in amazed horror at the symbols lighting up on the Gate. “How?”
Ronon grunted, “Who cares. They are doing it. We need to stop them.”
The enveloping whoosh of space water was cover enough for the Trust mercenaries to storm the Gate Room, firing on the Marines and staff. Everyone else acted fast, running for the wormhole and diving through. Augusto, Russo, Messer, all of them ran into the portal, only the straggler mercs and odd scientist falling foul of the Marine’s answering volleys. But the damage was done. Most of the Trust people had escaped, leaving behind wounded or dead comrades, and massive damage in their wake.
Over the PA, the accented excited voice exclaimed, “Got it!”
The screech of returning comm. feedback made even Dean wince and he didn’t have a radio. The flurry of answering voices and demands for information were cut short by Sheppard’s bark, “Clear the comms! Report, Gate Room.”
A stunned technician on the gallery stammered, “The Trust had a .. a.. bastardised Jumper DHD. They dialled out, Colonel. The Gate is still active.”
Sheppard sounded pissed, “Radek! The replicators are down, did you do that?”
“Yes, Colonel,” replied the voice sounding very pleased with himself. “They were not true Replicators, but were programmed. Ah... decoys only with goals to achieve.”
Distraction. It ran through everyone’s minds and then Ronon was running towards the still active Gate. “We gotta go after them.” The few Marines left in the Gate Room seemed keen, but hesitant and one of them tapped the comm., “Sir, Lieutenant Kim here. Permission to pursue escapees.”
“Do it, but just hold the Gate on the other side. Wait for us.”
Kim nodded at the order and the Marines checked weapons and were ready to go. Sheppard sounded liked he was running as he barked, “Ronon. Don’t do anything until I get there. Chuck! You sure it’s not a space gate or Wraith planet?”
Chuck, the technician from before nodded absently, his hands flying over the controls. “It’s a visited world, sir. Ancient ruins, no Wraith.”
“Go!”
Ronon did, the Marines close behind. Teyla barely smiled as Dean moved with her and no one else said anything and for the second time, Dean stepped through the Stargate.
Man, I love this place.
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*
In the aftermath of the Replicator attack as Colonel Sheppard and Major Lorne ran to recapture the Trust people, Carson and Keller sent out teams of medical personnel to treat the wounded now that the panic was over.
The Marine Corporal and Private on guard duty in the holding cells were dead, as where three more Marines in the city, overwhelmed by Replicators and eviscerated. Civilian casualties were minor, mostly limited to science staff as they fled the sections of the Atlantis under attack.
As Major Teldy led the detail to double check that no Replicator had escaped or hid in a duct or storage space, she discovered the only civilian casualty. Dr Lars Vuuren’s body was sprawled cloe to his lab, ripped up by Replicators but there was no mistaking the gunshot to the head.
“Mr Woolsey, sir? We have a problem.”
s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n* s*g*a*s*p*n*
Teaser Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Epilogue
Background blurb