(no subject)
Title: I Feel the Earth Move
Rating: PG-13 (for some creepy, nasty villains)
Characters: John, Rodney
Genre: Future-Fic, Action
Disclaimer: not for profit!
Summary: This is just one vision of the future. Pretend, for a moment, that you got stranded somewhere for a few years, only to return and watch the series finale of SGA without having a chance to catch up.
And special thanks to my beta-honeypepper blurryeyes!
*
"The love won't last," Rodney said reassuringly.
"Mmm," John said, frowning at Lorne's report. He thought about signing Weir's name to it, but then decided that any pretense of normalcy was ridiculous, and maybe even insulting. The data bursts they sent back to Earth at monthly intervals were becoming wildly and shamelessly evasive: phrases like, sub-optimal, but satisfactory health and overall, maintaining conduct appropriate to protocol, under the circumstances.
The SGC never called them on it. Some days, it made John want to put his fist through a wall---he didn't like to be patronized.
"They'll take each other out, it's inevitable."
John nodded, humouring Rodney because he heard the question in his tone. Holding the stylus tightly, he signed off: Johnnie Walker Red.
He pushed back in his chair; outside Elizabeth's office, the sun was setting and it made him itch; he wanted to take off to one of his favourite places and drink it all in for an entire, uninterrupted hour. It would not be a waste of his attention, though the priorities he’d scripted for this evening included reading reports, listening to proposals, staying on top of McKay’s work, mission briefing with Ronon and Kedram, patching up conflicts and working on morale issues. It was the Pegasus version of a quiet day; even Rodney looked as close to relaxed as he was going to get.
John stretched. “Did Beckett have anything to say?”
"Just the usual, migraine and exhaustion. Give it a couple days, and she’ll be---"
“’Fine.’”
“Yeah, well, when we take over command of Atlantis, let’s make it a rule that all reports must have punchlines.”
John smiled, fighting back a yawn, and stretched again. “For the next 20 minutes I’m off-duty. Try not to let the power go to your head.”
“Mm-hmm. Oh, and by the way, while you’ve been doing almost nothing, I finished reprogramming the shield controls and locked it so only you or I can access it. Anyone else I should add?”
“No,” John replied lightly. “Give my love to Atlantis.”
He went out, nodding to Lorne which was code for more than he could actually remember, and slowed down to a lingering kind of stroll once he got outside. The air was good, just enough bite to make him feel alive. No matter where the sun was, Top Pier was the best, because it wasn’t about the view. It was about the city. It was about another day of the city still being here and him still being alive, and it really had been a good day and he had no idea why. But that was okay too; even if he were crazy and dread should be thick, this could be the last good day and that alone would make it better than it was.
He knew a lot about endings, like leaving Afghanistan: it was all swift-sailing clouds and five seconds of blue sky and dappled light on his hands dilating into an eternity, just so he wouldn’t forget it. Lift off, one last look, gone. The thrill of leaving was like stepping through a wormhole.
He wandered toward the ocean, toward a jut of Ancient architecture that undoubtedly merged form and function perfectly, yet to him just looked like a beacon, about eight feet high. He climbed up and let his feet dangle, leaning back to look at the city.
He had twenty minutes and he wanted to spend them knowing that they were going to win in the end, but he found himself thinking his goodbyes.
*
A year ago, he wouldn’t have waited in the control room at 0700 hours for Teyla to return from a standard diplomatic mission. He had his feet up on a console and his unwashed hair felt like it was crawling, and he’d barely slept, but he waited. He was waiting for something else, too, like an imaginary countdown and he kept checking his watch, stopping just short of radioing McKay every time. Soon enough Ronon came by and dropped down beside him in companionable silence. There was a certain team nostalgia in that, which John brushed off before it embarrassed him.
“You still going to take a jumper out on reconnaissance?” Ronon asked eventually. He was oddly restless, like he’d come from a half-finished training session. “I think I should come with you.”
“Really.”
“Yeah.”
John considered this. “Well, since flying’s not your thing, I have to assume you’re hoping we’ll land somewhere and start a fight.”
Ronon shrugged. “Maybe they can detect the cloak. You don’t know what technology the Wraith are getting their hands on.”
“That may be true, but it still comes down to me doing some trick moves and getting us out of there. As you said, we don’t know what new toys the Hal are giving them, so I’m not planning on getting close enough for you to do your thing.”
“You bringing McKay?”
“I have this thing about keeping a scientist nearby, yeah. And you think that’s a bad idea.”
“Something could go wrong.”
“He’s not going to have to run.” He was beginning to get angry. Rodney had never been officially grounded, not even when he first got out of the infirmary, his leg twitching like electricity were spiking through it.
“I think I should come with you,” Ronon said again. He was calm and reasonable and reminded John that it was very hard to get angry with him without looking flustered and hot-headed. He looked at him for a minute, thinking.
“Okay,” he said, leaning a bit further back in his chair and putting his arms behind his head. The silence, while they waited for the technician to announce off-world activation, turned uncomplicated, almost like a team-building exercise. John looked at his watch.
When Teyla stepped through the ‘gate they rose to meet her, and Ronon quickly shouldered her pack. She turned tired eyes to John.
“I do not know how much longer they will continue to co-operate,” she said. “Tension between my people and the Tildorians is growing. The Tildorian counsel believes their food supply cannot handle the increased population. They also claim…that my people bring with them illnesses that have threatened their young and elderly.”
She was shaking her head, anger sliding up her arms and creasing her face. John tried to think of something less dumb-assed and more sympathetic to say than they have more than enough food for everyone but had to make do with wrinkling his nose. Ronon put his hand under her elbow to steady her and she seemed to lean into it, fractionally. But then, Ronon would understand this better than John ever could. Teyla tried to smile.
Sometimes John wanted to shake her. When she stood between two worlds and looking brave and dignified, he wanted to yell, why don’t you hate us? His expression slipped to a feralness that was less Lieutenant Colonel and more John Sheppard, and there was acid in his voice.
“So, we’ll find a way to make them co-operate. I’m sure we can be very persuasive.”
Ronon shook his head. “They know we won’t take back the shield.”
“No, they don’t.”
“Co-operation alone will not be enough if they continue to treat my people like beggars,” Teyla warned, anger finally spilling from her throat and darkening her eyes. She shrugged off Ronon’s hand sharply and John felt oddly quieted. Somewhere along the way, the lines of professionalism had shifted and sometimes he needed his team to break--just a little--while the alarms weren’t yet screaming. Teyla would stalk back to her quarters and Ronon would follow her and later they’d spar, and it would be all right for today. He looked at his watch.
He needed to talk to Elizabeth. He look a long look at Teyla, trying to assure himself that she was okay and trying to assure her that he was on top of the situation, before muttering something like debriefing later and heading for the infirmary.
*
Carson gave him two migraine tablets and instructions that they be taken with food, smiling tiredly over his microscope. John grabbed a glass of water and a bowl of gluey, spicy pseudo-oatmeal from the commissary, knocked on Elizabeth’s door, and waited a decent half a minute before entering.
She was twisted and curled in a pile of white blankets, her head tucked below the pillow. The room was dark and stifling, she had the window closed and John frowned, moving silently to place the tray on her bedside table. The sound of the ocean had been a comfort almost from the start. He moved the curtains slightly and light flickered through the room; then he opened the window and noise and air came through gently.
Elizabeth turned over onto her back and held her arm over her eyes. He pulled up a chair near the bed and sat down, waiting.
"Beckett must have slipped me something," she said, but the excuse fell uncertainly. It happened sometimes that Elizabeth crept off for a few days, vaguely claiming to be ‘available’ for anything important but otherwise seeming grievously close to her limit, as if the idea of giving up was heavy on her. It was bad for morale, or at least it would have been if John didn’t step up to the plate as if nothing was wrong.
She inched up a little and, still holding her head, turned to John with a pale face, drawn and contrite.
“I’ve got more pills for you,” John said and motioned to the tray.
“Thank you.” She tried to smile, but the expression slipped off into worry and guilt and a million other things. She tucked her knees up under her chin and drew her lips into a thin line. “I owe you, John. You have no idea how much I appreciate being able to depend on you.”
John tilted his head in a way that could have meant no problem or maybe I can play this game too.
She sat a little straighter. "None of us are in good shape. We have to work together, rely on each other. You need to trust me like I trust you---I depend on you like you're another part of me. But John…when you fought me about the shield, we almost lost twenty people. I understand your concern but it was the only way to get enough power for Rodney to save them, and I hope you do have faith in me."
John didn’t look away, he didn’t move, he didn't say you have no idea what you've done or lowering the shield for even a second might have been enough for them to get ahead of us. Because they couldn't work together anymore and she couldn’t understand, and he only hated himself a little for fighting dirty when he smiled reassuringly, even spreading his feet and leaning a bit in the chair, a pose of relief and capitulation. Elizabeth’s eyes went soft and warm because she was in love with his respect.
"Thank you," she said.
“No problem.”
*
It was after 0800 hours now; that meant collecting McKay and getting breakfast. It meant he could ask his questions and figure out what the hell else he needed to do today. It meant McKay griping at him, around a mouthful of his roasted almost-coffee beans (actually nuts), to the effect that waiting for a doomsday weapon to appear was not helping. In the corridors, life was picking up; half-shaven marines with ragged patches on their knees; red-eyed scientists clutching laptops and repair kits; he almost collided with a small woman as she tied her limp black hair into a ponytail. He recognized her as Radek’s girlfriend, a capable technician of some sort---the details were lost and at this hour, no one bothered with pleasantries if they tripped over each other.
In the lab, Rodney was a bit of a mess and if John were up to serious negotiation, he’d have insisted Rodney grab a shower and a change of clothes. He let it be and decided he didn’t want to know how long he’d been awake.
“What’s Radek’s girlfriend’s name?” he asked, sidling over to his station.
Rodney turned around and blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
“I was just wondering. I can’t remember. Anyway, time for breakfast.”
“Mm. Here,” he said, packing up his laptop. He carried his computer at all times---except when he handed it over to John to carry for him, which he did now---because apparently the science team couldn’t be trusted. “I’ve got my team competing with each other to find improvements for the weapons system. Their reports are almost disturbingly vindictive, actually, and apparently blood’s good for business because there might be a workable idea in here.”
“You set up a competition and didn’t tell the rest of us? You’re hopeless,” John chided. “Let my men in on it and they’ll bribe you for tips. You could probably get something really good out of this, they’re starved for something to bet on.”
“Isn’t there a pot going on what you did before the Air Force?”
“Saving Private Ryan, nice.”
“Did you have a job?”
“A couple, sure.”
Rodney paused. “Like what?”
“I’m not going to tell you now.”
“Fine,” he sniffed, lifting his chin. “Then I won’t tell you who’s in the lead on the attack console.”
“Radek,” John said. He didn’t think it was much of a contest.
“Nice try, but he’s not in on it. Says he hates games and prizes---fun little guy, isn’t he?”
Breakfast this morning was bacon substitute (gamey, but that was easily overlooked), waffles (two of which were dense and heavy enough to put a man to sleep with a full stomach), and a small assortment of fresh fruit (quite palatable if one liked crabapples). They tucked in gratefully. There were few things more damaging to morale than utilitarian food, tasteless gruel swallowed just to quiet one’s stomach. The few times they’d fallen that low, it had been surprising how quickly the situation brought on alarming listlessness in his men, and it was equally surprising how quickly a harvest of slightly-bitter berries brought on a celebration. John understood the full importance of food from basic training, but the knowledge didn’t help when they were millions of light-years away from chocolate. And no one really talked about Earth food anymore. Not even Rodney, and that seemed tragically wrong. He ate his waffles slowly.
“Ronon wants to go on our recon mission.”
“Whoa, wait a second,” Rodney said, swallowing a bit hard. “The plan I agreed to was that we were going to scout out a hive ship from the cloaked safety of the jumper and see if the Hal are cavorting with the Wraith.”
“No change of plans, Rodney, he’s just coming along for the ride. I promise. What are the deep space sensors showing this morning, anything?”
“Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you, a whole alien armada is on its way, armed with anvils and ACME hammers.”
John raised his eyebrow sagely. “I knew the Hal’s technology was just a big front. Slapstick’s more their thing.”
“That begs the question: is it rabbit season, or duck season? Maybe they don’t care all that much about us, maybe they’re working on sabotaging the Wraith.”
“I’d buy that if they weren’t so good at killing us. Or almost killing us.”
“They’ve got the Wraith’s trust for now, but the Wraith hardly need more advanced weapons, their real problem is a lack of available food. What does feeding the Wraith get the Hal? Seriously, the love won't last."
The most intense discussions of strategy always devolved to a single theme: what do you think they look like? and what do they want? and what do they get out of supplying the Wraith? It became something like a conversation of leisure, like picking shapes out of the clouds. Sometimes they made up theories that were more like stories, full of names and clichés and comic relief.
“Anyway,” Rodney continued, “to answer your question, I’ve been tracking a few different hive ships we could ‘gate to. Tell you what, you can pick. And I’m still working on ways to detect cloaked ships, I’m toying with micro gravitational lensing, but let’s face it, I might as well be a few years away from a working solution.”
“You’ll think of something,” John said, putting the words neatly in between reassurance, challenge, and direct order.
“Well, I’m working on it.”
“Sleep on it if you have to.”
“Ah, you’ve finally found my price. Bribe me with sleep, I can’t resist.”
Rodney snatched three more pieces of fruit on his way out and John carried Rodney's mug as well as his laptop. The pungent tea they'd taken a liking to steamed warm under his chin, and for a second he remembered how bone-tired he was. Then he blinked and glanced at his watch and wondered what the incoming data package was going to tell them. They were due, they were expecting one today.
You're on your own.
No, not this time anyway. Though the SGC messages might prevaricate by optimism too.
In the lab he put down McKay’s tea and his computer and thought about who he needed to speak with next--Lorne--and was about to suggest they bump up the recon mission to this afternoon because a restless tension had settled over his shoulders. Rodney was getting back to work, right foot tapping, but John saw he had his left hand jammed in his pocket. The cuff of his favourite shirt was frayed from the familiarity of the pose, one which meant his arm was tingling and mostly useless today.
He frowned and sat down beside him, wearied anger drifting on an updraft, a familiar recrimination because he hadn’t been there when it had happened. For about three days Rodney had been furious with the universe, and then suddenly he began pretending he didn’t notice anything was different, and since then he’d kept at it so long John hoped he wasn’t pretending anymore. Still, he slid his fingers down to Rodney's hand, lifting the arm carefully, pressing and rubbing with practiced ease, like cleaning his weapon. Rodney kept busy with his stylus and muttered at the screen. When John laid Rodney's hand on the table, it took him a moment to realize Rodney's quiet thank you hadn’t been directed at the computer.
“I gotta go,” he replied.
Radek was coming in just as John was leaving, with a small, strained smile John knew was all about love-in-wartime. They nodded hello; behind them, Rodney’s voice rose with an urgent oh no and he scrambled into motion.
“John, Radek, we’ve got company!”
“Colonel Sheppard?” Davenport came over the radio. “We’re reading two objects just outside the shield---they’re firing on us---“
“AI pods,” Rodney shouted. “John---“
“Stay here,” John ordered, and ran.
*
One night, a million miles from sleep, John and Rodney had discussed the possibility that the Hal were androids, or robots, or evil computers, what have you. It was an obvious conclusion given the terrible, calculatingly efficient weapons and the AI tech and the absence of any direct contact with them. Of all the names they’d tossed around, none could ever fit, because how could he name something when he still didn’t know what he was naming? But Hal stuck, maybe because it was short, or maybe because the cold cruelty of a deranged computer was better than the alternative.
The dart rested quietly, harmlessly, in its dock, guarded by two marines ever since Carson started giving the ATA gene to young, desperate and scared soldiers who thought that a few flying lessons in the jumper made them conquerors of the universe. The dart, it was unofficially but absolutely understood, was Sheppard’s.
“Get inside. No one comes out until I say otherwise,” John ordered as he released the cockpit and climbed in. Under the opaque dome it was pitch black and silent for a breathless moment and then he powered it up. Somewhat reluctantly he opened a radio channel.
“Davenport, are you still reading just the two enemy pods?”
“Roger that, Colonel.”
“If the sensors didn’t pick them up until now there could be more of them on the way and we wouldn’t know about it. I’m betting the Hal knew when Weir lowered the shield, and now they’ve sent the pods to test for weaknesses. Keep your eye on the sensors for me, Lieutenant---I’m going to clean up this mess while I’ve got a handle on it.”
It was not Davenport who answered. “John, what the hell are you doing?”
“Elizabeth, I didn’t know you were up.”
“Radio communication was pretty compelling.”
“I’m just taking care of a little problem.” He took the controls in his hands and began to lift off. “McKay, get ready to lower the shield on my mark---then bring it back up again, do you hear?”
“I hear you, Colonel, ready when you are.”
“John, get back here,” Elizabeth shouted. “It’s two against one and we can barely track them! We don’t know what the enemy probes can do.”
“That’s why I have to take them down,” John said, then gritted his teeth. “Rodney, the shield, now!”
The shield cut out obligingly and John held his breath for a tight spiral, cutting through sky so fast he was on the verge of losing control and spinning out. The dart took a hit from out of nowhere---the pods flickered on the dart’s display.
Davenport’s voice came over the radio. “Sir, we’re not getting steady readings on the pods, do you see them?”
“Yeah, they’re putting up a fight. Tricky, too. Just a minute,” he said and threw the dart into a loop, firing as he went.
“You got one!” Davenport said. “Sharp shooting, sir!”
“Thanks.” He forced his eyes to focus on the display: the other pod was zapping Atlantis’ shield with some kind of energy pulse. Damnit. “McKay, these things are trying to needle their way through the shield. You’re going to make sure that can’t happen.”
“I’m on it! John, if you’re taking damage come back through the shield and let the weapons system give it a try. It’ll give me a chance to work out the bugs in the attack console.”
The dart shuddered under a hit and John swung up as sharply as he could, swearing when the pod disappeared momentarily from his sensors.
“I can handle it. The AI pod’s no match for the dart, not when I’m flying it anyway. Just a minute-“
“Admit it, you like the dart better than the jumpers.”
John fired and the pod took a glancing blow. Almost there. “It’s not a question of preference, Rodney, some things just get the job done better than others. There…! Rodney, lower the shield!”
He had it; when the shield cut out he slammed the dart into a plummet and then decelerated as hard as he dared, dangerously close to flying straight into the city. He thought his head was going to explode when he set the dart down and dropped, ungracefully, to the deck. His legs were shaky and he took a couple hard deep breaths, leaning over with his hands on his knees as a grey abyss closed over his eyes. After a moment it eased up, and he pushed on, jogging into the city.
*
Rushing through the corridors, John collected four of his men, mentally replaying the heated conversation he’d just had with Elizabeth in the control room. He clenched his fists.
“How many times am I supposed to let you undermine my authority before I have you arrested?”
“Arrested? You try to order my men to arrest me, see how well that works.”
“I know, John. But to be honest? You’re scaring me. You’re fighting me at every turn, I have no idea what’s going through your head anymore---“
“Listen, you weren’t even on duty last I heard. You didn’t know the situation. I handled it.” He heard his voice go softer, gentler. “You’re not feeling well, it’s okay. We’ll see Carson and I’ll fill you in on everything. I’ve got some good news, too.”
Good news, John thought, clinging to this small victory made so beautiful after months of not knowing anything, being forced into fear and caution and hiding. His heart still hadn’t eased back into its normal rhythm and his eyes ached hard, but he was flying; he’d caught the ball this time, they could take it and run.
Rodney was having a staring contest with his laptop---likely readings from the pod-fight---arms crossed and scowling. It was a look that usually meant he was losing efficiency from lack of sleep, but John ambushed him, trusting in Rodney's second (or tenth) wind.
"I have a present for you," John said, and motioned for the marines behind him.
Rodney stumbled to his feet like maybe he expected a big pot of coffee, and rapidly switched gears when he laid his eyes on the AI pod the marines rolled in. He nearly flew to it, thank God in his eyes while all his thoughts were diverted to plans and calculations.
“I scooped it up in the dart. Didn’t have time to wrap it, sorry.”
"This thing is most likely rigged up with explosives, you know that don't you?" Rodney said as he circled it and then he was off calling Radek and racing for equipment.
*
In a stolen snatch of sleep, John dreamed of the stutter of engines and a long spiraling plummet. He woke up sweating and sick and thirsty, and also a little surprised, because when he had stretched out on the bed he was adamant that he wasn’t going to sleep. He had an open laptop next to him; his eyes kept tripping over the words expect the Daedalus in 32 weeks. It was the only real piece of information in the 25-page SGC report, and even that was likely an empty sentiment.
We are confident the Daedalus will not be delayed any further.
John hauled himself up, got himself some water from the bathroom tap, and doused his face while he was at it, all without looking in the mirror. It was weird the way he never dreamed of the terrors that had actually happened. Just kid stuff.
The situation is under control.
Like hell. He rubbed his eyes none-too-gently and tugged at his shirt, which was really beyond repair. Then he grabbed a CD-ROM off the bed and went on a Lorne-hunt.
He followed his instincts down to one of the training rooms where a lot of the men, Lorne included, were spending more time than was actually useful. Ronon and Kedram at least made sure that the exercises didn’t degenerate into poor form and violence, but the two of them never sparred together. It was like some sort of rule. They also ran scouting missions and Kedram had a rich network of friends and trading partners and informants. Ronon seemed to trust none of them but if they had ever run into trouble, they kept quiet about it. They were resourceful and dependable and still John wouldn't have been surprised if they disappeared one day and never came back, fighting their own fight. He wouldn’t hold it against them but he wouldn’t trade them for anything.
And Lorne: Lorne was perfect--possessing every attribute of military excellence that John could only tug on like a rental suit. He didn't ask questions; he rolled with the punches, all of them, except for that one botched mission, but that was the kind of flaw that would probably hold him together in the end.
Currently, Lorne was on the mat, pinned under Kedram in a wicked wrestling hold, yelling uncle as calmly as possible.
“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point---you’ve made your point!”
Kedram let Lorne go; Lorne rolled off his back and climbed to his feet, nursing his bruised pride and a wrenched shoulder.
“Major,” John called cheerfully.
“Colonel. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Kedram mopped a towel over his face and neck. “Want to give it a go, Sheppard?”
“Sure,” John replied easily, “later. I thought I’d let you know that the SGC packet came in.”
"News, Colonel?"
"Status quo, or so they're telling us. Things are fairly quiet but they still can't spare a ship for us."
"We don't need anything," Lorne said, but it sounded too rehearsed. "We're good."
"Yeah, we are. Other than that, there's a few personal notes. You got one from Parrish."
Lorne stopped blotting his face, his eyes gone dark with guilt and questions, and went very still. John smiled as if he couldn't see that and handed him the data file. "There was mention of him in the general report---some of the nerve damage has been repaired. I gotta go."
“Sheppard,” Kedram called after him, “you could use a run. You’d feel better. It’d help you sleep, too.”
“I’ll get to it,” he said.
Later, when John arrived in the mess with Rodney and his laptop in tow, Lorne got up from his lunch and handed McKay a small sack of the roasted almost-coffee beans and touched him on the shoulder. Rodney all but stuck his nose in the bag, breathing deep and exuding gratitude from the eyes before snapping,
"Take your time, didn't you, I asked for these like three days ago!"
Except he'd never asked, not even once, while Lorne had bartered for them and handed them over without fail twice a month for the past year. John watched Lorne out of the corner of his eye, wondering if Rodney's act was a bit much, but Lorne was smiling and maybe it was the best thing Rodney could say.
*
It was the dead of night. John was flat on his stomach, on a couch appropriated from Heightmeyer’s abandoned office, reading an excruciatingly detailed report of Wraith movements as indicated by deep space sensors and recon missions. Rodney was on the floor beside him, surrounded by pieces of the dismantled AI pod and looking slightly like a toddler at play. Every now and then he’d pop a roasted almost-coffee bean into his mouth and the sound of the first crunch as he chewed was somehow comforting and domestic in the quiet lab. John wondered if he might be able to fall asleep right here if he put down the computer.
“How long was the shield out?”
“About two seconds, both times,” Rodney replied absently.
“You made sure---“
Rodney stopped and turned to look at him. “Yes. No Wraith, no foreign devices, no computer viruses, nothing; I checked, and then Radek checked, and then I double-checked Radek’s work. I thought we agreed that I would lose sleep over the science stuff and you’d lose sleep over command stuff?”
He didn’t bother to reply. Tactical situations that were too technical for John to understand were bad news, plain and simple. Rolling his neck until it cracked, he pulled up a report dated over a year ago and plodded through it mechanically, as if he’d memorized it.
The attack was without warning. I was in the control room and saw a sudden flash of light, and later regained consciousness on a hive ship with Lt. Col. Sheppard. The Wraith queen told me that they had abducted thirty people from Atlantis and were beginning to feed on them. I was told that my life, and Lt. Col. Sheppard's life, and the lives of those remaining on Atlantis would be spared if I agreed to betray the planets that we, having discovered that they possessed ZPMs, had outfitted with shield technology reverse-engineered from Atlantis' own. These planets are places of sanctuary for many thousands of people. When I refused, the Wraith queen threatened Lt. Col. Sheppard's life and then proceeded to inflict pain on him by means of electrical devices.
His own memory of the event was fractured into fragile shards: Elizabeth’s eyes, wide and dark; the silver hem of the Wraith queen’s dress touching the floor; the light stroke of a hand on his bare chest; the smell of singed hair. The way he clenched his teeth together so hard he thought they’d crack; the way he’d used the pain to keep himself from thinking about Atlantis or the others on the hive ship or what Elizabeth was going to do. He’d been so swallowed up in the situation that his own report was just three short paragraphs long, all of them reaching for purchase, for control.
It was strange to consider Rodney’s calm, concise words and wonder what it had really been like.
Atlantis' shield was being powered by a ZPM which was at 20% capacity. In order to prolong the ZPM's power I had created a mechanism which switched the shield on and off at an impressive rate of speed (comparable, metaphorically at least, to the flicker of a fluorescent bulb). My calculations (see attachments 1-6) show that this should have been sufficient to render any intrusion or attack impotent. It is my conclusion that the Wraith's beaming technology had been significantly improved in order for them to beam in 20 Wraith and beam out 30 of our personnel within a few microseconds. When I became aware of the situation I immediately restored the shield to full operation.
“We can’t lower the shield the next time the AI pods show up, they’ll be expecting it,” John said suddenly. “What’s the likelihood that they’ll figure out how to get through?”
“I could pull figures out of thin air if you really want---or, you could leave me alone so I could make some actual progress on this thing.”
He hated the feeling of being in the dark.
When I received word that Dr. Weir and Lt. Col. Sheppard had been scooped up by the Wraith, I assumed military command of the expedition. 20 Wraith had beamed into Atlantis with weapons we had not seen before. They had modified stunners which we discovered could render a victim permanently paralyzed. In our counterattack against the Wraith, five men were hit and two later died. See Dr. Beckett’s report, and also my list of men I wish to commend for their swift and able action in containing the situation and killing the Wraith intruders.
After the immediate situation had been dealt with, Dr. McKay informed me that the shield would only last a few more weeks at most. We had been aware of the pressing need for a replacement ZPM for some time, so I organized two teams to follow up on leads. I did not have sufficient intel to mount a rescue mission for the personnel abducted by the Wraith. I took a team including Ronon Dex, Kedram Ivac, Dr. McKay and Dr. Parrish to M5Z-831. The planet’s toxic plant-life had halted a previous mission, which is why I included Dr. Parrish. Dr. McKay believed the energy readings to be very significant and after almost 11 hours navigating difficult terrain through dense and potentially deadly vegetation, the power source was determined to be a ZPM. We were in the process of retrieving it when the team was ambushed by the Wraith.
When he asked him, much later in the infirmary, Rodney said all he could remember was running and wild confusion. Darts, Wraith on foot, AI pods---which were foreign and all the more terrifying at the time---Lorne bellowing orders, and Parrish screaming. Then a burst of pain in his left side that spread into hot, dark numbness.
“That’s one of the worst things about war,” John had said quietly. “When it’s nothing but a mess of chaos and you make it through without knowing how. And no matter how sure you were about your skills and no matter how pumped you were with confidence going in, it’s all a blur that comes down to luck and it scares the crap out of you.”
Really dumb luck was exhilarating sometimes but it got sickening fast. Dumb luck like the Daedalus sweeping through and disabling the hive ship and getting Elizabeth and himself and a very small handful of others out. Dumb luck like realizing all his tendons hadn’t been sliced in two, that he had nothing but a few burns to show for the pain that sparked and licked him for weeks afterward. Dumb luck like Rodney catching a glancing blow that left him with only partial nerve damage. Dumb luck like Ronon showing up with the ZPM cradled in his arms like a baby.
Dr. Weir did not compromise the expedition in any shape or form. She refused to bargain. It is my opinion that those who lost their lives aboard the hive ship could not have been saved through any effort of her own. I wasn’t conscious much of the time I was on the ship, but at one point I saw the Wraith bring our people to her and feed on them in front of her. She refused to bargain---I am sure beyond a doubt that she did the right thing.
Caldwell had been strangely detached when he got to Atlantis and tried to shake the situation down, and John had refused to stay in the infirmary right from the start so he could shadow him. The supply cargo Caldwell brought was the biggest Atlantis had ever had; this alone was enough to make John suspicious. Then the half-hearted, patronizingly stupid words of encouragement to Elizabeth. He did not stay more than 48 hours, rushing back with Parrish and three other injured marines, a strained look on his face and a promise to see them in three months.
The Daedalus never returned.
“Finally. Now we’re talking,” Rodney muttered and very carefully lifted a black object from the belly of the pod. “You have no idea how intricately this thing was integrated, I’m not even entirely sure I’ll be able to put it back together. But if I can work up an interface with our computers, I’ll be able to tell you everything you ever wanted to know about Hal pods.”
“That’s it, that little thing?” he asked. Considering the size and apparent complexity of the AI pod, the computer seemed pretty small.
“This is the central control unit, it’s the main computer. I already gave the navigation system to Radek. There’s also a separate weapons system, here---“ he pointed to a fairly innocuous looking piece of tech, “but we’re not ready to mess around with that just yet.”
Rodney was using a glorified screwdriver to pry off the metal casing. “Let’s just get her open, and see what we’ve got…”
Wondering if he’d still be able to fall asleep right there on the couch, John shut off his computer. He could definitely try.
“Oh---ugh!” Rodney jumped back from the control unit with a startled cry.
“Rodney?” McKay’s face was white, his eyes narrow and dark. There was sweat in his hair. “What is it?”
“This is not good. This is seriously not good.” And John knew it was bad because Rodney’s voice was a whisper void of any panicked inflection. His hand faltered, he stumbled to his feet like the thing might bite him and wiped his forehead.
“Rodney, what is it?”
His mouth twisted. “Grey matter.”
“What?”
“In the computer systems. They’re augmented with it. Oh my God. This is bad.” He was sort of listing sideways, like he wanted to stalk off and do something or just get away, but he was stuck. He looked sick.
“Let’s get some air,” John said urgently. He could tell Rodney was accelerating towards a meltdown---any well-trained officer had a hair-trigger for meltdown intervention---so he tried to take him by the arm.
“Do you have any idea how bad this is? No, of course you don’t. How could you, because John Sheppard doesn’t care about anything!”
John went for a calming tone. “Easy, easy, Rodney, just---“
“I’m---I think I’m going to throw up.”
He was breathing hard; John manhandled him into the hall and tried to haul him in the direction of a washroom, but then Rodney waved a shaky hand and asked to sit down. So they sat against a wall in the corridor and Rodney, with obvious effort, kept his stomach under control. After a few minutes resting with his eyes tightly shut, he sighed and covered his face with his hand.
“You okay?” John asked, extremely grateful that he hadn’t gotten a look at the thing.
“We are so screwed.”
John shook his head. “I won’t buy that. We knew they had weird tech---what you’ve got here is a chance to figure it out. You can do this, Rodney.”
He bristled. “Of course I can figure it out, it’s still a computer. But we’re probably talking brain-sucking zombie monsters now, and that makes for really, really, spectacularly bad sci-fi. Hence us being screwed.”
John tried to divert the conversation to something more technical. “You said the computer systems were augmented with…it?”
“Yes, like a cyborg. Only one that’s more sci than borg.”
“So maybe the Hal are just brains-in-a-jar and they use the pods to get around.”
“Then who built the pods?” Rodney scoffed, his colour returning to normal. “Or did they build them with their brains?”
After a moment he pushed himself to his feet, pacing slowly, worrying at the problem in a weary but determined way. John hung back and watched him.
“Carson could take a look at it.”
“He can try a DNA test,” Rodney agreed, and made a face at the morbidity of it all. “But it’ll have to wait until I’ve finished working on the computer. Which is just disgusting.”
“This thing just might be the most advanced computer in two galaxies. You crack it, and it’s a Nobel Prize. Still disgusting?” John quirked his eyebrow and half-smirked, which was easy for him because he hadn’t had his nose three inches away from someone’s frontal lobe.
“Well.” Rodney gestured in a half-capitulating way, clearly warming to the idea and perhaps mentally drafting his acceptance speech. “As I learned in Russia, ‘Man is a creature who can get used to anything.’”
“I had to come here to learn that.”
Rodney rubbed his face again, and John was going to suggest he call it a night---but he could already hear Rodney’s right, because I would sleep so peacefully now; then briefly considered suggesting a midnight snack---oh yes, eating is the first thing on my mind after almost throwing up---and then decided they needed chill night air and wide open skies.
Hurried footsteps approached from down the hallway; Radek appeared around the corner and ground to a halt.
“Ah, Rodney, I did not expect to find you here.”
“You didn’t think I’d still be up? Are you kidding me?”
“I did not think you would be in the corridor.” He ducked his head briefly at John, who was still sitting on the floor, by way of greeting.
“Trust me, you don’t want to go in there,” Rodney said, and waved back towards the lab.
“What have you done?”
“Nothing, just…nothing. I thought you were on a date.”
“I was, but now I am trying to tell you something. I’ve been up working on the flight computer.”
Rodney grimaced. “Yes, about that---you didn’t find any, say, unusual computer components, did you?”
“Unusual? No…uh, no, but if you come to my lab, I can show you very good news.”
John got to his feet. “Let’s see it. Come on, Rodney.”
Music---Czech music---was playing softly in the lab, which caught John off guard for some reason. Like everyone else he’d started re-building his music collection back when the Daedalus was making regular runs, but found himself reluctant to listen to any of it. It sounded eerily out of context here, or worse, like a ghost sliding around his peripherals.
“The navigational computer is very complex. The flight decision-making process would be governed by the AI’s central computer, but this stores necessary data to fly independently of it. So if, for instance, the AI was corrupted it would fall back on a set flightpath. Now, all this data is encrypted and not easy to retrieve. But, I did get this…” Radek punched up a star map and pointed triumphantly. “This is where the pod came from.”
“So they have a base there.” John narrowed his eyes, thinking strategy. “Okay, how about a ‘gate somewhere within jumper distance?”
Radek nodded. “There’s a ‘gate about twelve hours away.”
“We could work up a mini-MALP,” Rodney said, squinting at the screen, “but something tells me the Hal will have a sentry at the ‘gate.”
John shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. They already know where we are, and the pods were probably transmitting up until I took them down. If they find the MALP we’ll lose our foothold but they won’t get anything on us. Send it out ASAP and I’ll take Ronon and Kedram once we get the all-clear.”
“Wait, don’t you think this is a bit rash, even for you? We know nothing about the Hal, except that they have weapons way beyond our capability and use pieces of brain to achieve technological godhead. Which, by the way, will keep me from sleeping for the rest of my life.”
“Brain?” Radek choked.
“Not now,” Rodney snapped. “Actually, take five, Radek. I’ve got some important business with the Colonel.”
“Always ‘important business with the Colonel,’” Radek grumbled. “You’re trying to steal credit for my work. I decoded the encryption and discovered the base myself.”
“Well, there, now he knows. You can go.”
“You are a thankless, impossible, irritating man.”
“Yes, yes, get a new slogan. Great work, now go.”
Radek scowled and went; John knew better than to appear to approve, or disapprove, of Rodney’s leadership tactics. He put his hands on his hips.
“This is the best chance we’ve had for recon, Rodney, I’m not passing it up. We’ll be out 36 hours, tops. I'll talk to Lorne, he can handle Elizabeth if anything goes wrong."
"Right, because my only concern is having someone around to handle Elizabeth."
John pitched what he thought was a charming (and annoying) smile. "You're sweet on me, aren't you?"
"I know this is going to take some getting used to, but you're not exactly expendable anymore,” McKay huffed. “We both know I have first-hand experience with Hal weapons so you can quit pretending I’m being hysterical and exaggerating. Look, you can still do your suicide-mission thing if that's really how you want to go, but you have to be Mr. Responsibility now and wait until your death is the one thing that's going to save everyone for good. I'll let you know when the time comes."
"We're talking about an intel mission here."
"Maybe I’m not being clear enough: I’m asking you to stay.”
You don’t get to do that, was the silent, and maddeningly untrue, protest. "Rodney..."
"Besides...I need your help."
"I knew there was a reason. Let's hear it."
"Okay. We're sending out a data burst tomorrow. I read it over while doing the compression, there's nothing crucial, I mean, they're not going to send the Daedalus just because everyone's complaining about running low on supplies, and if anything the AI pod analysis is going to make them want to run away screaming."
"So?"
"So, we don't need to send it. And I can think of a better use for the power spike, but I need you to cover for me. Let Lorne fly the recon mission."
“It better be worth it.”
“It is. Trust me.”
*
Elizabeth was up and led the briefing at 1100 hours the next morning, pale as she poured over Rodney’s carefully-worded report about the AI pod technology. Rodney himself was tapping on the table-leg with his foot, and making the whole damn table shake, but since he was working and tuning everyone out and grimacing in a tired and irritable way, no one snapped at him to stop. Lorne was leaning back almost relaxed and content, apparently taking a page from the John Sheppard book of embracing really bad news. Ronon and Kedram looked like they were ready to roll without so much as another word---though Kedram appeared a lot more good-humoured about it.
Elizabeth had heard the entire mission plan but evidently it wasn’t an easy sell. “You were expecting the MALP to run into trouble. Why isn’t the ‘gate guarded?”
John shifted impatiently. “Well, I’m not the Hal, but maybe they don’t have anything to be afraid of yet. They don’t know we know where their base is. So it’s our window of opportunity.”
“And we haven’t had one in a long time. Agreed,” Elizabeth said. “I’m well aware of how important this mission is, as important as it is dangerous.”
“Which is nothing new.”
“No. But Lorne, I want you and your team to know that you don’t have to do this if you feel the risk is too great.”
“Ma’am, we’re good,” Lorne said.
“All right. No engaging the enemy. Pull back at the first sign of trouble. And good luck.”
“Will do.”
Rodney looked up from his computer and passed Ronon an Ancient scanner. “I adjusted it so it’s pretty much idiot proof. Just bring it back to me in one piece.”
And then they left. John stood in the control room with an uneasy feeling in his chest. He’d gotten used to solving problems by throwing himself into the line of fire, and he certainly didn’t send his men somewhere he wouldn’t go first, so this had to be a mistake. Rodney brushed past him, double-timing it back to the lab; he was keenly aware of Elizabeth behind him, staring at him. She watched him all the time. Maybe she was looking for the same John Sheppard she’d watched on the hive ship---she hadn’t been able to stop looking then.
“John?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe it’s wrong of me, but I’m relieved you’re not going.”
“It does seem like I’m needed around here,” John said, the obtuse act being something he’d picked up in Basic.
“You could put it that way.” Then she smiled tightly. “I’ve got work to do.”
He spent the rest of the afternoon running until his stomach cramped. It didn’t do much to make him feel better. At 1900 hours he got a call from Rodney asking him to go back to the control room and follow his lead because they were scheduled to send out the databurst. He had a feeling this was just going to be a bad day all around.
He sauntered into the control room as if he were merely bored (and not sore all over) and sat down as casually as ever.
“All right, Rodney, we’re ready on your mark,” Elizabeth said.
“I’m starting to tie together our power resources now. Be ready in about ten seconds.”
They waited; Davenport kept his hand hovering just above the DHD.
“Okay, go! No-no-wait, wait, wait! Damn it!”
“Rodney, what’s going on?”
“We’re going to blow out a generator if we don’t cut the power! I need to shut down everything except the shield!”
“Rodney, that’s not good enough, we have to maintain contact with the SGC. Keep it together long enough to send the message!”
“It’s not worth the risk. I’m shutting everything down.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth; John was trying to search Rodney’s voice for some secret code to read his mind; and then pure noise ripped through his earpiece, making him want to shut it off---but he couldn’t. Maybe his knees were giving way, or maybe there was some burst of vibration rising from the floor---like those small earthquakes in his youth, that might have only been a dream of falling.
The lights flickered---with the deep drone of some dip in power---but held.
“Rodney,” he heard himself say, not quite working up to a yell---he wanted to yell, but his chest wouldn’t pull the air. He pushed his radio hard in his ear. “Rodney.”
“Still here,” Rodney said, his voice sounding small and distant.
Elizabeth sat down in the nearest chair and covered her face.
Hansen was calling Beckett and saying Emergency.
“Rodney, what---“
“It’s fine, I’m fine. We, uh, blew a generator. And almost blew up me with it. But---nothing to worry about.”
He was already running, heading for a transporter. “Rodney, are you sure you’re not hurt? Carson’s on the way.”
There was a brief burst of static and he realized Rodney had switched to a private channel. “John---tell him I’m fine and keep him out of the way. Don’t let him come down here.”
John stopped, holding one arm to his sore stomach muscles, his jaw clenching. “You’re a bastard.”
“I know, I know. I’ll make it up to you, just---“
And then John cut off his radio, because Carson was coming down the hall with his med-kit and gloves and a sick look on his face. John exhaled hard, then seeing as he felt a little dizzy, drew in a few more deep breaths.
“Hold up, doc. It’s all right. No one got hurt.”
Carson deflated a bit, puzzled. “You sure, now?”
“Yeah. Got my heart pumping, though. A generator blew when we were trying to send the databurst.”
“A generator blew out and everyone’s fine?”
John smothered a scowl, unbelievably pissed off at one Rodney McKay at the moment. “McKay was exaggerating, I’m sure it didn’t quite blow up..."
Carson gave him a weird look but let it go.
“You know what you could do, though?” John said. “Talk to Elizabeth. McKay told her the generator was going to blow and she---“ he shook his head. “She’s not okay.”
“Colonel,” Carson said, “she’s going to get through this.”
John gritted his teeth. Someone had left an equipment case in the hallway; he kicked it hard as he went past.
“Damn it.”
Carson shook his head. “You know, there’s a reason I went into genetics. There’s a nice, cozy distance from real problems, real pain.”
“She’s making bad command decisions.”
“And you’re doing your part to keep things together. I don’t envy you the responsibility, but I’d ask you to be more patient. She’s a strong lass but this is likely---“
“PTSD, I know, I know.”
Carson nodded, infuriatingly gentle and knowing. “You were there.”
“She shouldn’t be on duty.”
“I stopped pulling people from duty a long time ago. I can’t put the whole lot of you on medical leave, much as I’d like to.”
“Just Elizabeth. Before something worse happens. I’d kind of like Atlantis and all of us to stick around for a while.”
“Son, I won’t choose who’s more fit to command out of a bunch of tired, strung-out people. Between you and Elizabeth…I can’t, I’m sorry.”
John grabbed his arm; it was all he could do not to push him into a wall.
“My men trust me. The science team trusts me. If you don’t, that’s news to me.”
“Don’t be putting words in my mouth, lad, you know better than that. All I’m saying is… Things happen pretty fast around here, it’s hard to keep up. When we got you and Elizabeth back from the hive ship we were hip deep in trouble and there was never a chance for anyone to deal with any of it. We just keep moving, don’t we? We lost Kate, and I’m trying to keep you all together, body and soul, and what bloody good can I do? You have no idea how worried Elizabeth is about you.”
“That’s guilt, it’s a guilt complex or something. I’m fine.”
“Well, you’re probably the only one in this city who is.” Carson swallowed, his eyes unreadable, not giving in. “You should really get more rest, Colonel,” he said, then pulled away.
“Great, just great,” John muttered in the empty corridor. Then he remembered Rodney and made his way down, not in the least surprised to see the perfectly intact generator and the untouched room, Rodney tapping away at his damn computer. At least he looked a bit guilty when he saw John standing there.
“You going to tell me what really happened?”
“Later.” At John’s dark glare, he added, “Nothing I can’t fix. In fact, as you can see, there isn’t anything to fix, and it’ll look like I pulled a miracle, which, as you know, is nothing out of the ordinary.”
“You could have warned me,” he said tightly.
“John, I thought you knew, I figured you were on track.”
“I didn’t know you were going to fake an explosion.”
“I’m sorry.” Rodney shut mouth, then shut his computer down, and just looked at him, no excuses. Shifting on his feet and breathing out a lump of anger, John moved on.
“It felt stronger than last time,” he offered.
Rodney couldn’t help it, he was all but beaming. “Point-one second. It’ll look like a blip on the read-out but if you knew as much about Ancient technology as I do, you’d be amazed.”
“Yeah?”
“’Yeah?’ Understatement of the era, John.”
“So, you’re getting somewhere.”
“I am.”
*
Part Two
Rating: PG-13 (for some creepy, nasty villains)
Characters: John, Rodney
Genre: Future-Fic, Action
Disclaimer: not for profit!
Summary: This is just one vision of the future. Pretend, for a moment, that you got stranded somewhere for a few years, only to return and watch the series finale of SGA without having a chance to catch up.
And special thanks to my beta-honeypepper blurryeyes!
*
"The love won't last," Rodney said reassuringly.
"Mmm," John said, frowning at Lorne's report. He thought about signing Weir's name to it, but then decided that any pretense of normalcy was ridiculous, and maybe even insulting. The data bursts they sent back to Earth at monthly intervals were becoming wildly and shamelessly evasive: phrases like, sub-optimal, but satisfactory health and overall, maintaining conduct appropriate to protocol, under the circumstances.
The SGC never called them on it. Some days, it made John want to put his fist through a wall---he didn't like to be patronized.
"They'll take each other out, it's inevitable."
John nodded, humouring Rodney because he heard the question in his tone. Holding the stylus tightly, he signed off: Johnnie Walker Red.
He pushed back in his chair; outside Elizabeth's office, the sun was setting and it made him itch; he wanted to take off to one of his favourite places and drink it all in for an entire, uninterrupted hour. It would not be a waste of his attention, though the priorities he’d scripted for this evening included reading reports, listening to proposals, staying on top of McKay’s work, mission briefing with Ronon and Kedram, patching up conflicts and working on morale issues. It was the Pegasus version of a quiet day; even Rodney looked as close to relaxed as he was going to get.
John stretched. “Did Beckett have anything to say?”
"Just the usual, migraine and exhaustion. Give it a couple days, and she’ll be---"
“’Fine.’”
“Yeah, well, when we take over command of Atlantis, let’s make it a rule that all reports must have punchlines.”
John smiled, fighting back a yawn, and stretched again. “For the next 20 minutes I’m off-duty. Try not to let the power go to your head.”
“Mm-hmm. Oh, and by the way, while you’ve been doing almost nothing, I finished reprogramming the shield controls and locked it so only you or I can access it. Anyone else I should add?”
“No,” John replied lightly. “Give my love to Atlantis.”
He went out, nodding to Lorne which was code for more than he could actually remember, and slowed down to a lingering kind of stroll once he got outside. The air was good, just enough bite to make him feel alive. No matter where the sun was, Top Pier was the best, because it wasn’t about the view. It was about the city. It was about another day of the city still being here and him still being alive, and it really had been a good day and he had no idea why. But that was okay too; even if he were crazy and dread should be thick, this could be the last good day and that alone would make it better than it was.
He knew a lot about endings, like leaving Afghanistan: it was all swift-sailing clouds and five seconds of blue sky and dappled light on his hands dilating into an eternity, just so he wouldn’t forget it. Lift off, one last look, gone. The thrill of leaving was like stepping through a wormhole.
He wandered toward the ocean, toward a jut of Ancient architecture that undoubtedly merged form and function perfectly, yet to him just looked like a beacon, about eight feet high. He climbed up and let his feet dangle, leaning back to look at the city.
He had twenty minutes and he wanted to spend them knowing that they were going to win in the end, but he found himself thinking his goodbyes.
*
A year ago, he wouldn’t have waited in the control room at 0700 hours for Teyla to return from a standard diplomatic mission. He had his feet up on a console and his unwashed hair felt like it was crawling, and he’d barely slept, but he waited. He was waiting for something else, too, like an imaginary countdown and he kept checking his watch, stopping just short of radioing McKay every time. Soon enough Ronon came by and dropped down beside him in companionable silence. There was a certain team nostalgia in that, which John brushed off before it embarrassed him.
“You still going to take a jumper out on reconnaissance?” Ronon asked eventually. He was oddly restless, like he’d come from a half-finished training session. “I think I should come with you.”
“Really.”
“Yeah.”
John considered this. “Well, since flying’s not your thing, I have to assume you’re hoping we’ll land somewhere and start a fight.”
Ronon shrugged. “Maybe they can detect the cloak. You don’t know what technology the Wraith are getting their hands on.”
“That may be true, but it still comes down to me doing some trick moves and getting us out of there. As you said, we don’t know what new toys the Hal are giving them, so I’m not planning on getting close enough for you to do your thing.”
“You bringing McKay?”
“I have this thing about keeping a scientist nearby, yeah. And you think that’s a bad idea.”
“Something could go wrong.”
“He’s not going to have to run.” He was beginning to get angry. Rodney had never been officially grounded, not even when he first got out of the infirmary, his leg twitching like electricity were spiking through it.
“I think I should come with you,” Ronon said again. He was calm and reasonable and reminded John that it was very hard to get angry with him without looking flustered and hot-headed. He looked at him for a minute, thinking.
“Okay,” he said, leaning a bit further back in his chair and putting his arms behind his head. The silence, while they waited for the technician to announce off-world activation, turned uncomplicated, almost like a team-building exercise. John looked at his watch.
When Teyla stepped through the ‘gate they rose to meet her, and Ronon quickly shouldered her pack. She turned tired eyes to John.
“I do not know how much longer they will continue to co-operate,” she said. “Tension between my people and the Tildorians is growing. The Tildorian counsel believes their food supply cannot handle the increased population. They also claim…that my people bring with them illnesses that have threatened their young and elderly.”
She was shaking her head, anger sliding up her arms and creasing her face. John tried to think of something less dumb-assed and more sympathetic to say than they have more than enough food for everyone but had to make do with wrinkling his nose. Ronon put his hand under her elbow to steady her and she seemed to lean into it, fractionally. But then, Ronon would understand this better than John ever could. Teyla tried to smile.
Sometimes John wanted to shake her. When she stood between two worlds and looking brave and dignified, he wanted to yell, why don’t you hate us? His expression slipped to a feralness that was less Lieutenant Colonel and more John Sheppard, and there was acid in his voice.
“So, we’ll find a way to make them co-operate. I’m sure we can be very persuasive.”
Ronon shook his head. “They know we won’t take back the shield.”
“No, they don’t.”
“Co-operation alone will not be enough if they continue to treat my people like beggars,” Teyla warned, anger finally spilling from her throat and darkening her eyes. She shrugged off Ronon’s hand sharply and John felt oddly quieted. Somewhere along the way, the lines of professionalism had shifted and sometimes he needed his team to break--just a little--while the alarms weren’t yet screaming. Teyla would stalk back to her quarters and Ronon would follow her and later they’d spar, and it would be all right for today. He looked at his watch.
He needed to talk to Elizabeth. He look a long look at Teyla, trying to assure himself that she was okay and trying to assure her that he was on top of the situation, before muttering something like debriefing later and heading for the infirmary.
*
Carson gave him two migraine tablets and instructions that they be taken with food, smiling tiredly over his microscope. John grabbed a glass of water and a bowl of gluey, spicy pseudo-oatmeal from the commissary, knocked on Elizabeth’s door, and waited a decent half a minute before entering.
She was twisted and curled in a pile of white blankets, her head tucked below the pillow. The room was dark and stifling, she had the window closed and John frowned, moving silently to place the tray on her bedside table. The sound of the ocean had been a comfort almost from the start. He moved the curtains slightly and light flickered through the room; then he opened the window and noise and air came through gently.
Elizabeth turned over onto her back and held her arm over her eyes. He pulled up a chair near the bed and sat down, waiting.
"Beckett must have slipped me something," she said, but the excuse fell uncertainly. It happened sometimes that Elizabeth crept off for a few days, vaguely claiming to be ‘available’ for anything important but otherwise seeming grievously close to her limit, as if the idea of giving up was heavy on her. It was bad for morale, or at least it would have been if John didn’t step up to the plate as if nothing was wrong.
She inched up a little and, still holding her head, turned to John with a pale face, drawn and contrite.
“I’ve got more pills for you,” John said and motioned to the tray.
“Thank you.” She tried to smile, but the expression slipped off into worry and guilt and a million other things. She tucked her knees up under her chin and drew her lips into a thin line. “I owe you, John. You have no idea how much I appreciate being able to depend on you.”
John tilted his head in a way that could have meant no problem or maybe I can play this game too.
She sat a little straighter. "None of us are in good shape. We have to work together, rely on each other. You need to trust me like I trust you---I depend on you like you're another part of me. But John…when you fought me about the shield, we almost lost twenty people. I understand your concern but it was the only way to get enough power for Rodney to save them, and I hope you do have faith in me."
John didn’t look away, he didn’t move, he didn't say you have no idea what you've done or lowering the shield for even a second might have been enough for them to get ahead of us. Because they couldn't work together anymore and she couldn’t understand, and he only hated himself a little for fighting dirty when he smiled reassuringly, even spreading his feet and leaning a bit in the chair, a pose of relief and capitulation. Elizabeth’s eyes went soft and warm because she was in love with his respect.
"Thank you," she said.
“No problem.”
*
It was after 0800 hours now; that meant collecting McKay and getting breakfast. It meant he could ask his questions and figure out what the hell else he needed to do today. It meant McKay griping at him, around a mouthful of his roasted almost-coffee beans (actually nuts), to the effect that waiting for a doomsday weapon to appear was not helping. In the corridors, life was picking up; half-shaven marines with ragged patches on their knees; red-eyed scientists clutching laptops and repair kits; he almost collided with a small woman as she tied her limp black hair into a ponytail. He recognized her as Radek’s girlfriend, a capable technician of some sort---the details were lost and at this hour, no one bothered with pleasantries if they tripped over each other.
In the lab, Rodney was a bit of a mess and if John were up to serious negotiation, he’d have insisted Rodney grab a shower and a change of clothes. He let it be and decided he didn’t want to know how long he’d been awake.
“What’s Radek’s girlfriend’s name?” he asked, sidling over to his station.
Rodney turned around and blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
“I was just wondering. I can’t remember. Anyway, time for breakfast.”
“Mm. Here,” he said, packing up his laptop. He carried his computer at all times---except when he handed it over to John to carry for him, which he did now---because apparently the science team couldn’t be trusted. “I’ve got my team competing with each other to find improvements for the weapons system. Their reports are almost disturbingly vindictive, actually, and apparently blood’s good for business because there might be a workable idea in here.”
“You set up a competition and didn’t tell the rest of us? You’re hopeless,” John chided. “Let my men in on it and they’ll bribe you for tips. You could probably get something really good out of this, they’re starved for something to bet on.”
“Isn’t there a pot going on what you did before the Air Force?”
“Saving Private Ryan, nice.”
“Did you have a job?”
“A couple, sure.”
Rodney paused. “Like what?”
“I’m not going to tell you now.”
“Fine,” he sniffed, lifting his chin. “Then I won’t tell you who’s in the lead on the attack console.”
“Radek,” John said. He didn’t think it was much of a contest.
“Nice try, but he’s not in on it. Says he hates games and prizes---fun little guy, isn’t he?”
Breakfast this morning was bacon substitute (gamey, but that was easily overlooked), waffles (two of which were dense and heavy enough to put a man to sleep with a full stomach), and a small assortment of fresh fruit (quite palatable if one liked crabapples). They tucked in gratefully. There were few things more damaging to morale than utilitarian food, tasteless gruel swallowed just to quiet one’s stomach. The few times they’d fallen that low, it had been surprising how quickly the situation brought on alarming listlessness in his men, and it was equally surprising how quickly a harvest of slightly-bitter berries brought on a celebration. John understood the full importance of food from basic training, but the knowledge didn’t help when they were millions of light-years away from chocolate. And no one really talked about Earth food anymore. Not even Rodney, and that seemed tragically wrong. He ate his waffles slowly.
“Ronon wants to go on our recon mission.”
“Whoa, wait a second,” Rodney said, swallowing a bit hard. “The plan I agreed to was that we were going to scout out a hive ship from the cloaked safety of the jumper and see if the Hal are cavorting with the Wraith.”
“No change of plans, Rodney, he’s just coming along for the ride. I promise. What are the deep space sensors showing this morning, anything?”
“Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you, a whole alien armada is on its way, armed with anvils and ACME hammers.”
John raised his eyebrow sagely. “I knew the Hal’s technology was just a big front. Slapstick’s more their thing.”
“That begs the question: is it rabbit season, or duck season? Maybe they don’t care all that much about us, maybe they’re working on sabotaging the Wraith.”
“I’d buy that if they weren’t so good at killing us. Or almost killing us.”
“They’ve got the Wraith’s trust for now, but the Wraith hardly need more advanced weapons, their real problem is a lack of available food. What does feeding the Wraith get the Hal? Seriously, the love won't last."
The most intense discussions of strategy always devolved to a single theme: what do you think they look like? and what do they want? and what do they get out of supplying the Wraith? It became something like a conversation of leisure, like picking shapes out of the clouds. Sometimes they made up theories that were more like stories, full of names and clichés and comic relief.
“Anyway,” Rodney continued, “to answer your question, I’ve been tracking a few different hive ships we could ‘gate to. Tell you what, you can pick. And I’m still working on ways to detect cloaked ships, I’m toying with micro gravitational lensing, but let’s face it, I might as well be a few years away from a working solution.”
“You’ll think of something,” John said, putting the words neatly in between reassurance, challenge, and direct order.
“Well, I’m working on it.”
“Sleep on it if you have to.”
“Ah, you’ve finally found my price. Bribe me with sleep, I can’t resist.”
Rodney snatched three more pieces of fruit on his way out and John carried Rodney's mug as well as his laptop. The pungent tea they'd taken a liking to steamed warm under his chin, and for a second he remembered how bone-tired he was. Then he blinked and glanced at his watch and wondered what the incoming data package was going to tell them. They were due, they were expecting one today.
You're on your own.
No, not this time anyway. Though the SGC messages might prevaricate by optimism too.
In the lab he put down McKay’s tea and his computer and thought about who he needed to speak with next--Lorne--and was about to suggest they bump up the recon mission to this afternoon because a restless tension had settled over his shoulders. Rodney was getting back to work, right foot tapping, but John saw he had his left hand jammed in his pocket. The cuff of his favourite shirt was frayed from the familiarity of the pose, one which meant his arm was tingling and mostly useless today.
He frowned and sat down beside him, wearied anger drifting on an updraft, a familiar recrimination because he hadn’t been there when it had happened. For about three days Rodney had been furious with the universe, and then suddenly he began pretending he didn’t notice anything was different, and since then he’d kept at it so long John hoped he wasn’t pretending anymore. Still, he slid his fingers down to Rodney's hand, lifting the arm carefully, pressing and rubbing with practiced ease, like cleaning his weapon. Rodney kept busy with his stylus and muttered at the screen. When John laid Rodney's hand on the table, it took him a moment to realize Rodney's quiet thank you hadn’t been directed at the computer.
“I gotta go,” he replied.
Radek was coming in just as John was leaving, with a small, strained smile John knew was all about love-in-wartime. They nodded hello; behind them, Rodney’s voice rose with an urgent oh no and he scrambled into motion.
“John, Radek, we’ve got company!”
“Colonel Sheppard?” Davenport came over the radio. “We’re reading two objects just outside the shield---they’re firing on us---“
“AI pods,” Rodney shouted. “John---“
“Stay here,” John ordered, and ran.
*
One night, a million miles from sleep, John and Rodney had discussed the possibility that the Hal were androids, or robots, or evil computers, what have you. It was an obvious conclusion given the terrible, calculatingly efficient weapons and the AI tech and the absence of any direct contact with them. Of all the names they’d tossed around, none could ever fit, because how could he name something when he still didn’t know what he was naming? But Hal stuck, maybe because it was short, or maybe because the cold cruelty of a deranged computer was better than the alternative.
The dart rested quietly, harmlessly, in its dock, guarded by two marines ever since Carson started giving the ATA gene to young, desperate and scared soldiers who thought that a few flying lessons in the jumper made them conquerors of the universe. The dart, it was unofficially but absolutely understood, was Sheppard’s.
“Get inside. No one comes out until I say otherwise,” John ordered as he released the cockpit and climbed in. Under the opaque dome it was pitch black and silent for a breathless moment and then he powered it up. Somewhat reluctantly he opened a radio channel.
“Davenport, are you still reading just the two enemy pods?”
“Roger that, Colonel.”
“If the sensors didn’t pick them up until now there could be more of them on the way and we wouldn’t know about it. I’m betting the Hal knew when Weir lowered the shield, and now they’ve sent the pods to test for weaknesses. Keep your eye on the sensors for me, Lieutenant---I’m going to clean up this mess while I’ve got a handle on it.”
It was not Davenport who answered. “John, what the hell are you doing?”
“Elizabeth, I didn’t know you were up.”
“Radio communication was pretty compelling.”
“I’m just taking care of a little problem.” He took the controls in his hands and began to lift off. “McKay, get ready to lower the shield on my mark---then bring it back up again, do you hear?”
“I hear you, Colonel, ready when you are.”
“John, get back here,” Elizabeth shouted. “It’s two against one and we can barely track them! We don’t know what the enemy probes can do.”
“That’s why I have to take them down,” John said, then gritted his teeth. “Rodney, the shield, now!”
The shield cut out obligingly and John held his breath for a tight spiral, cutting through sky so fast he was on the verge of losing control and spinning out. The dart took a hit from out of nowhere---the pods flickered on the dart’s display.
Davenport’s voice came over the radio. “Sir, we’re not getting steady readings on the pods, do you see them?”
“Yeah, they’re putting up a fight. Tricky, too. Just a minute,” he said and threw the dart into a loop, firing as he went.
“You got one!” Davenport said. “Sharp shooting, sir!”
“Thanks.” He forced his eyes to focus on the display: the other pod was zapping Atlantis’ shield with some kind of energy pulse. Damnit. “McKay, these things are trying to needle their way through the shield. You’re going to make sure that can’t happen.”
“I’m on it! John, if you’re taking damage come back through the shield and let the weapons system give it a try. It’ll give me a chance to work out the bugs in the attack console.”
The dart shuddered under a hit and John swung up as sharply as he could, swearing when the pod disappeared momentarily from his sensors.
“I can handle it. The AI pod’s no match for the dart, not when I’m flying it anyway. Just a minute-“
“Admit it, you like the dart better than the jumpers.”
John fired and the pod took a glancing blow. Almost there. “It’s not a question of preference, Rodney, some things just get the job done better than others. There…! Rodney, lower the shield!”
He had it; when the shield cut out he slammed the dart into a plummet and then decelerated as hard as he dared, dangerously close to flying straight into the city. He thought his head was going to explode when he set the dart down and dropped, ungracefully, to the deck. His legs were shaky and he took a couple hard deep breaths, leaning over with his hands on his knees as a grey abyss closed over his eyes. After a moment it eased up, and he pushed on, jogging into the city.
*
Rushing through the corridors, John collected four of his men, mentally replaying the heated conversation he’d just had with Elizabeth in the control room. He clenched his fists.
“How many times am I supposed to let you undermine my authority before I have you arrested?”
“Arrested? You try to order my men to arrest me, see how well that works.”
“I know, John. But to be honest? You’re scaring me. You’re fighting me at every turn, I have no idea what’s going through your head anymore---“
“Listen, you weren’t even on duty last I heard. You didn’t know the situation. I handled it.” He heard his voice go softer, gentler. “You’re not feeling well, it’s okay. We’ll see Carson and I’ll fill you in on everything. I’ve got some good news, too.”
Good news, John thought, clinging to this small victory made so beautiful after months of not knowing anything, being forced into fear and caution and hiding. His heart still hadn’t eased back into its normal rhythm and his eyes ached hard, but he was flying; he’d caught the ball this time, they could take it and run.
Rodney was having a staring contest with his laptop---likely readings from the pod-fight---arms crossed and scowling. It was a look that usually meant he was losing efficiency from lack of sleep, but John ambushed him, trusting in Rodney's second (or tenth) wind.
"I have a present for you," John said, and motioned for the marines behind him.
Rodney stumbled to his feet like maybe he expected a big pot of coffee, and rapidly switched gears when he laid his eyes on the AI pod the marines rolled in. He nearly flew to it, thank God in his eyes while all his thoughts were diverted to plans and calculations.
“I scooped it up in the dart. Didn’t have time to wrap it, sorry.”
"This thing is most likely rigged up with explosives, you know that don't you?" Rodney said as he circled it and then he was off calling Radek and racing for equipment.
*
In a stolen snatch of sleep, John dreamed of the stutter of engines and a long spiraling plummet. He woke up sweating and sick and thirsty, and also a little surprised, because when he had stretched out on the bed he was adamant that he wasn’t going to sleep. He had an open laptop next to him; his eyes kept tripping over the words expect the Daedalus in 32 weeks. It was the only real piece of information in the 25-page SGC report, and even that was likely an empty sentiment.
We are confident the Daedalus will not be delayed any further.
John hauled himself up, got himself some water from the bathroom tap, and doused his face while he was at it, all without looking in the mirror. It was weird the way he never dreamed of the terrors that had actually happened. Just kid stuff.
The situation is under control.
Like hell. He rubbed his eyes none-too-gently and tugged at his shirt, which was really beyond repair. Then he grabbed a CD-ROM off the bed and went on a Lorne-hunt.
He followed his instincts down to one of the training rooms where a lot of the men, Lorne included, were spending more time than was actually useful. Ronon and Kedram at least made sure that the exercises didn’t degenerate into poor form and violence, but the two of them never sparred together. It was like some sort of rule. They also ran scouting missions and Kedram had a rich network of friends and trading partners and informants. Ronon seemed to trust none of them but if they had ever run into trouble, they kept quiet about it. They were resourceful and dependable and still John wouldn't have been surprised if they disappeared one day and never came back, fighting their own fight. He wouldn’t hold it against them but he wouldn’t trade them for anything.
And Lorne: Lorne was perfect--possessing every attribute of military excellence that John could only tug on like a rental suit. He didn't ask questions; he rolled with the punches, all of them, except for that one botched mission, but that was the kind of flaw that would probably hold him together in the end.
Currently, Lorne was on the mat, pinned under Kedram in a wicked wrestling hold, yelling uncle as calmly as possible.
“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point---you’ve made your point!”
Kedram let Lorne go; Lorne rolled off his back and climbed to his feet, nursing his bruised pride and a wrenched shoulder.
“Major,” John called cheerfully.
“Colonel. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Kedram mopped a towel over his face and neck. “Want to give it a go, Sheppard?”
“Sure,” John replied easily, “later. I thought I’d let you know that the SGC packet came in.”
"News, Colonel?"
"Status quo, or so they're telling us. Things are fairly quiet but they still can't spare a ship for us."
"We don't need anything," Lorne said, but it sounded too rehearsed. "We're good."
"Yeah, we are. Other than that, there's a few personal notes. You got one from Parrish."
Lorne stopped blotting his face, his eyes gone dark with guilt and questions, and went very still. John smiled as if he couldn't see that and handed him the data file. "There was mention of him in the general report---some of the nerve damage has been repaired. I gotta go."
“Sheppard,” Kedram called after him, “you could use a run. You’d feel better. It’d help you sleep, too.”
“I’ll get to it,” he said.
Later, when John arrived in the mess with Rodney and his laptop in tow, Lorne got up from his lunch and handed McKay a small sack of the roasted almost-coffee beans and touched him on the shoulder. Rodney all but stuck his nose in the bag, breathing deep and exuding gratitude from the eyes before snapping,
"Take your time, didn't you, I asked for these like three days ago!"
Except he'd never asked, not even once, while Lorne had bartered for them and handed them over without fail twice a month for the past year. John watched Lorne out of the corner of his eye, wondering if Rodney's act was a bit much, but Lorne was smiling and maybe it was the best thing Rodney could say.
*
It was the dead of night. John was flat on his stomach, on a couch appropriated from Heightmeyer’s abandoned office, reading an excruciatingly detailed report of Wraith movements as indicated by deep space sensors and recon missions. Rodney was on the floor beside him, surrounded by pieces of the dismantled AI pod and looking slightly like a toddler at play. Every now and then he’d pop a roasted almost-coffee bean into his mouth and the sound of the first crunch as he chewed was somehow comforting and domestic in the quiet lab. John wondered if he might be able to fall asleep right here if he put down the computer.
“How long was the shield out?”
“About two seconds, both times,” Rodney replied absently.
“You made sure---“
Rodney stopped and turned to look at him. “Yes. No Wraith, no foreign devices, no computer viruses, nothing; I checked, and then Radek checked, and then I double-checked Radek’s work. I thought we agreed that I would lose sleep over the science stuff and you’d lose sleep over command stuff?”
He didn’t bother to reply. Tactical situations that were too technical for John to understand were bad news, plain and simple. Rolling his neck until it cracked, he pulled up a report dated over a year ago and plodded through it mechanically, as if he’d memorized it.
The attack was without warning. I was in the control room and saw a sudden flash of light, and later regained consciousness on a hive ship with Lt. Col. Sheppard. The Wraith queen told me that they had abducted thirty people from Atlantis and were beginning to feed on them. I was told that my life, and Lt. Col. Sheppard's life, and the lives of those remaining on Atlantis would be spared if I agreed to betray the planets that we, having discovered that they possessed ZPMs, had outfitted with shield technology reverse-engineered from Atlantis' own. These planets are places of sanctuary for many thousands of people. When I refused, the Wraith queen threatened Lt. Col. Sheppard's life and then proceeded to inflict pain on him by means of electrical devices.
His own memory of the event was fractured into fragile shards: Elizabeth’s eyes, wide and dark; the silver hem of the Wraith queen’s dress touching the floor; the light stroke of a hand on his bare chest; the smell of singed hair. The way he clenched his teeth together so hard he thought they’d crack; the way he’d used the pain to keep himself from thinking about Atlantis or the others on the hive ship or what Elizabeth was going to do. He’d been so swallowed up in the situation that his own report was just three short paragraphs long, all of them reaching for purchase, for control.
It was strange to consider Rodney’s calm, concise words and wonder what it had really been like.
Atlantis' shield was being powered by a ZPM which was at 20% capacity. In order to prolong the ZPM's power I had created a mechanism which switched the shield on and off at an impressive rate of speed (comparable, metaphorically at least, to the flicker of a fluorescent bulb). My calculations (see attachments 1-6) show that this should have been sufficient to render any intrusion or attack impotent. It is my conclusion that the Wraith's beaming technology had been significantly improved in order for them to beam in 20 Wraith and beam out 30 of our personnel within a few microseconds. When I became aware of the situation I immediately restored the shield to full operation.
“We can’t lower the shield the next time the AI pods show up, they’ll be expecting it,” John said suddenly. “What’s the likelihood that they’ll figure out how to get through?”
“I could pull figures out of thin air if you really want---or, you could leave me alone so I could make some actual progress on this thing.”
He hated the feeling of being in the dark.
When I received word that Dr. Weir and Lt. Col. Sheppard had been scooped up by the Wraith, I assumed military command of the expedition. 20 Wraith had beamed into Atlantis with weapons we had not seen before. They had modified stunners which we discovered could render a victim permanently paralyzed. In our counterattack against the Wraith, five men were hit and two later died. See Dr. Beckett’s report, and also my list of men I wish to commend for their swift and able action in containing the situation and killing the Wraith intruders.
After the immediate situation had been dealt with, Dr. McKay informed me that the shield would only last a few more weeks at most. We had been aware of the pressing need for a replacement ZPM for some time, so I organized two teams to follow up on leads. I did not have sufficient intel to mount a rescue mission for the personnel abducted by the Wraith. I took a team including Ronon Dex, Kedram Ivac, Dr. McKay and Dr. Parrish to M5Z-831. The planet’s toxic plant-life had halted a previous mission, which is why I included Dr. Parrish. Dr. McKay believed the energy readings to be very significant and after almost 11 hours navigating difficult terrain through dense and potentially deadly vegetation, the power source was determined to be a ZPM. We were in the process of retrieving it when the team was ambushed by the Wraith.
When he asked him, much later in the infirmary, Rodney said all he could remember was running and wild confusion. Darts, Wraith on foot, AI pods---which were foreign and all the more terrifying at the time---Lorne bellowing orders, and Parrish screaming. Then a burst of pain in his left side that spread into hot, dark numbness.
“That’s one of the worst things about war,” John had said quietly. “When it’s nothing but a mess of chaos and you make it through without knowing how. And no matter how sure you were about your skills and no matter how pumped you were with confidence going in, it’s all a blur that comes down to luck and it scares the crap out of you.”
Really dumb luck was exhilarating sometimes but it got sickening fast. Dumb luck like the Daedalus sweeping through and disabling the hive ship and getting Elizabeth and himself and a very small handful of others out. Dumb luck like realizing all his tendons hadn’t been sliced in two, that he had nothing but a few burns to show for the pain that sparked and licked him for weeks afterward. Dumb luck like Rodney catching a glancing blow that left him with only partial nerve damage. Dumb luck like Ronon showing up with the ZPM cradled in his arms like a baby.
Dr. Weir did not compromise the expedition in any shape or form. She refused to bargain. It is my opinion that those who lost their lives aboard the hive ship could not have been saved through any effort of her own. I wasn’t conscious much of the time I was on the ship, but at one point I saw the Wraith bring our people to her and feed on them in front of her. She refused to bargain---I am sure beyond a doubt that she did the right thing.
Caldwell had been strangely detached when he got to Atlantis and tried to shake the situation down, and John had refused to stay in the infirmary right from the start so he could shadow him. The supply cargo Caldwell brought was the biggest Atlantis had ever had; this alone was enough to make John suspicious. Then the half-hearted, patronizingly stupid words of encouragement to Elizabeth. He did not stay more than 48 hours, rushing back with Parrish and three other injured marines, a strained look on his face and a promise to see them in three months.
The Daedalus never returned.
“Finally. Now we’re talking,” Rodney muttered and very carefully lifted a black object from the belly of the pod. “You have no idea how intricately this thing was integrated, I’m not even entirely sure I’ll be able to put it back together. But if I can work up an interface with our computers, I’ll be able to tell you everything you ever wanted to know about Hal pods.”
“That’s it, that little thing?” he asked. Considering the size and apparent complexity of the AI pod, the computer seemed pretty small.
“This is the central control unit, it’s the main computer. I already gave the navigation system to Radek. There’s also a separate weapons system, here---“ he pointed to a fairly innocuous looking piece of tech, “but we’re not ready to mess around with that just yet.”
Rodney was using a glorified screwdriver to pry off the metal casing. “Let’s just get her open, and see what we’ve got…”
Wondering if he’d still be able to fall asleep right there on the couch, John shut off his computer. He could definitely try.
“Oh---ugh!” Rodney jumped back from the control unit with a startled cry.
“Rodney?” McKay’s face was white, his eyes narrow and dark. There was sweat in his hair. “What is it?”
“This is not good. This is seriously not good.” And John knew it was bad because Rodney’s voice was a whisper void of any panicked inflection. His hand faltered, he stumbled to his feet like the thing might bite him and wiped his forehead.
“Rodney, what is it?”
His mouth twisted. “Grey matter.”
“What?”
“In the computer systems. They’re augmented with it. Oh my God. This is bad.” He was sort of listing sideways, like he wanted to stalk off and do something or just get away, but he was stuck. He looked sick.
“Let’s get some air,” John said urgently. He could tell Rodney was accelerating towards a meltdown---any well-trained officer had a hair-trigger for meltdown intervention---so he tried to take him by the arm.
“Do you have any idea how bad this is? No, of course you don’t. How could you, because John Sheppard doesn’t care about anything!”
John went for a calming tone. “Easy, easy, Rodney, just---“
“I’m---I think I’m going to throw up.”
He was breathing hard; John manhandled him into the hall and tried to haul him in the direction of a washroom, but then Rodney waved a shaky hand and asked to sit down. So they sat against a wall in the corridor and Rodney, with obvious effort, kept his stomach under control. After a few minutes resting with his eyes tightly shut, he sighed and covered his face with his hand.
“You okay?” John asked, extremely grateful that he hadn’t gotten a look at the thing.
“We are so screwed.”
John shook his head. “I won’t buy that. We knew they had weird tech---what you’ve got here is a chance to figure it out. You can do this, Rodney.”
He bristled. “Of course I can figure it out, it’s still a computer. But we’re probably talking brain-sucking zombie monsters now, and that makes for really, really, spectacularly bad sci-fi. Hence us being screwed.”
John tried to divert the conversation to something more technical. “You said the computer systems were augmented with…it?”
“Yes, like a cyborg. Only one that’s more sci than borg.”
“So maybe the Hal are just brains-in-a-jar and they use the pods to get around.”
“Then who built the pods?” Rodney scoffed, his colour returning to normal. “Or did they build them with their brains?”
After a moment he pushed himself to his feet, pacing slowly, worrying at the problem in a weary but determined way. John hung back and watched him.
“Carson could take a look at it.”
“He can try a DNA test,” Rodney agreed, and made a face at the morbidity of it all. “But it’ll have to wait until I’ve finished working on the computer. Which is just disgusting.”
“This thing just might be the most advanced computer in two galaxies. You crack it, and it’s a Nobel Prize. Still disgusting?” John quirked his eyebrow and half-smirked, which was easy for him because he hadn’t had his nose three inches away from someone’s frontal lobe.
“Well.” Rodney gestured in a half-capitulating way, clearly warming to the idea and perhaps mentally drafting his acceptance speech. “As I learned in Russia, ‘Man is a creature who can get used to anything.’”
“I had to come here to learn that.”
Rodney rubbed his face again, and John was going to suggest he call it a night---but he could already hear Rodney’s right, because I would sleep so peacefully now; then briefly considered suggesting a midnight snack---oh yes, eating is the first thing on my mind after almost throwing up---and then decided they needed chill night air and wide open skies.
Hurried footsteps approached from down the hallway; Radek appeared around the corner and ground to a halt.
“Ah, Rodney, I did not expect to find you here.”
“You didn’t think I’d still be up? Are you kidding me?”
“I did not think you would be in the corridor.” He ducked his head briefly at John, who was still sitting on the floor, by way of greeting.
“Trust me, you don’t want to go in there,” Rodney said, and waved back towards the lab.
“What have you done?”
“Nothing, just…nothing. I thought you were on a date.”
“I was, but now I am trying to tell you something. I’ve been up working on the flight computer.”
Rodney grimaced. “Yes, about that---you didn’t find any, say, unusual computer components, did you?”
“Unusual? No…uh, no, but if you come to my lab, I can show you very good news.”
John got to his feet. “Let’s see it. Come on, Rodney.”
Music---Czech music---was playing softly in the lab, which caught John off guard for some reason. Like everyone else he’d started re-building his music collection back when the Daedalus was making regular runs, but found himself reluctant to listen to any of it. It sounded eerily out of context here, or worse, like a ghost sliding around his peripherals.
“The navigational computer is very complex. The flight decision-making process would be governed by the AI’s central computer, but this stores necessary data to fly independently of it. So if, for instance, the AI was corrupted it would fall back on a set flightpath. Now, all this data is encrypted and not easy to retrieve. But, I did get this…” Radek punched up a star map and pointed triumphantly. “This is where the pod came from.”
“So they have a base there.” John narrowed his eyes, thinking strategy. “Okay, how about a ‘gate somewhere within jumper distance?”
Radek nodded. “There’s a ‘gate about twelve hours away.”
“We could work up a mini-MALP,” Rodney said, squinting at the screen, “but something tells me the Hal will have a sentry at the ‘gate.”
John shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. They already know where we are, and the pods were probably transmitting up until I took them down. If they find the MALP we’ll lose our foothold but they won’t get anything on us. Send it out ASAP and I’ll take Ronon and Kedram once we get the all-clear.”
“Wait, don’t you think this is a bit rash, even for you? We know nothing about the Hal, except that they have weapons way beyond our capability and use pieces of brain to achieve technological godhead. Which, by the way, will keep me from sleeping for the rest of my life.”
“Brain?” Radek choked.
“Not now,” Rodney snapped. “Actually, take five, Radek. I’ve got some important business with the Colonel.”
“Always ‘important business with the Colonel,’” Radek grumbled. “You’re trying to steal credit for my work. I decoded the encryption and discovered the base myself.”
“Well, there, now he knows. You can go.”
“You are a thankless, impossible, irritating man.”
“Yes, yes, get a new slogan. Great work, now go.”
Radek scowled and went; John knew better than to appear to approve, or disapprove, of Rodney’s leadership tactics. He put his hands on his hips.
“This is the best chance we’ve had for recon, Rodney, I’m not passing it up. We’ll be out 36 hours, tops. I'll talk to Lorne, he can handle Elizabeth if anything goes wrong."
"Right, because my only concern is having someone around to handle Elizabeth."
John pitched what he thought was a charming (and annoying) smile. "You're sweet on me, aren't you?"
"I know this is going to take some getting used to, but you're not exactly expendable anymore,” McKay huffed. “We both know I have first-hand experience with Hal weapons so you can quit pretending I’m being hysterical and exaggerating. Look, you can still do your suicide-mission thing if that's really how you want to go, but you have to be Mr. Responsibility now and wait until your death is the one thing that's going to save everyone for good. I'll let you know when the time comes."
"We're talking about an intel mission here."
"Maybe I’m not being clear enough: I’m asking you to stay.”
You don’t get to do that, was the silent, and maddeningly untrue, protest. "Rodney..."
"Besides...I need your help."
"I knew there was a reason. Let's hear it."
"Okay. We're sending out a data burst tomorrow. I read it over while doing the compression, there's nothing crucial, I mean, they're not going to send the Daedalus just because everyone's complaining about running low on supplies, and if anything the AI pod analysis is going to make them want to run away screaming."
"So?"
"So, we don't need to send it. And I can think of a better use for the power spike, but I need you to cover for me. Let Lorne fly the recon mission."
“It better be worth it.”
“It is. Trust me.”
*
Elizabeth was up and led the briefing at 1100 hours the next morning, pale as she poured over Rodney’s carefully-worded report about the AI pod technology. Rodney himself was tapping on the table-leg with his foot, and making the whole damn table shake, but since he was working and tuning everyone out and grimacing in a tired and irritable way, no one snapped at him to stop. Lorne was leaning back almost relaxed and content, apparently taking a page from the John Sheppard book of embracing really bad news. Ronon and Kedram looked like they were ready to roll without so much as another word---though Kedram appeared a lot more good-humoured about it.
Elizabeth had heard the entire mission plan but evidently it wasn’t an easy sell. “You were expecting the MALP to run into trouble. Why isn’t the ‘gate guarded?”
John shifted impatiently. “Well, I’m not the Hal, but maybe they don’t have anything to be afraid of yet. They don’t know we know where their base is. So it’s our window of opportunity.”
“And we haven’t had one in a long time. Agreed,” Elizabeth said. “I’m well aware of how important this mission is, as important as it is dangerous.”
“Which is nothing new.”
“No. But Lorne, I want you and your team to know that you don’t have to do this if you feel the risk is too great.”
“Ma’am, we’re good,” Lorne said.
“All right. No engaging the enemy. Pull back at the first sign of trouble. And good luck.”
“Will do.”
Rodney looked up from his computer and passed Ronon an Ancient scanner. “I adjusted it so it’s pretty much idiot proof. Just bring it back to me in one piece.”
And then they left. John stood in the control room with an uneasy feeling in his chest. He’d gotten used to solving problems by throwing himself into the line of fire, and he certainly didn’t send his men somewhere he wouldn’t go first, so this had to be a mistake. Rodney brushed past him, double-timing it back to the lab; he was keenly aware of Elizabeth behind him, staring at him. She watched him all the time. Maybe she was looking for the same John Sheppard she’d watched on the hive ship---she hadn’t been able to stop looking then.
“John?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe it’s wrong of me, but I’m relieved you’re not going.”
“It does seem like I’m needed around here,” John said, the obtuse act being something he’d picked up in Basic.
“You could put it that way.” Then she smiled tightly. “I’ve got work to do.”
He spent the rest of the afternoon running until his stomach cramped. It didn’t do much to make him feel better. At 1900 hours he got a call from Rodney asking him to go back to the control room and follow his lead because they were scheduled to send out the databurst. He had a feeling this was just going to be a bad day all around.
He sauntered into the control room as if he were merely bored (and not sore all over) and sat down as casually as ever.
“All right, Rodney, we’re ready on your mark,” Elizabeth said.
“I’m starting to tie together our power resources now. Be ready in about ten seconds.”
They waited; Davenport kept his hand hovering just above the DHD.
“Okay, go! No-no-wait, wait, wait! Damn it!”
“Rodney, what’s going on?”
“We’re going to blow out a generator if we don’t cut the power! I need to shut down everything except the shield!”
“Rodney, that’s not good enough, we have to maintain contact with the SGC. Keep it together long enough to send the message!”
“It’s not worth the risk. I’m shutting everything down.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth; John was trying to search Rodney’s voice for some secret code to read his mind; and then pure noise ripped through his earpiece, making him want to shut it off---but he couldn’t. Maybe his knees were giving way, or maybe there was some burst of vibration rising from the floor---like those small earthquakes in his youth, that might have only been a dream of falling.
The lights flickered---with the deep drone of some dip in power---but held.
“Rodney,” he heard himself say, not quite working up to a yell---he wanted to yell, but his chest wouldn’t pull the air. He pushed his radio hard in his ear. “Rodney.”
“Still here,” Rodney said, his voice sounding small and distant.
Elizabeth sat down in the nearest chair and covered her face.
Hansen was calling Beckett and saying Emergency.
“Rodney, what---“
“It’s fine, I’m fine. We, uh, blew a generator. And almost blew up me with it. But---nothing to worry about.”
He was already running, heading for a transporter. “Rodney, are you sure you’re not hurt? Carson’s on the way.”
There was a brief burst of static and he realized Rodney had switched to a private channel. “John---tell him I’m fine and keep him out of the way. Don’t let him come down here.”
John stopped, holding one arm to his sore stomach muscles, his jaw clenching. “You’re a bastard.”
“I know, I know. I’ll make it up to you, just---“
And then John cut off his radio, because Carson was coming down the hall with his med-kit and gloves and a sick look on his face. John exhaled hard, then seeing as he felt a little dizzy, drew in a few more deep breaths.
“Hold up, doc. It’s all right. No one got hurt.”
Carson deflated a bit, puzzled. “You sure, now?”
“Yeah. Got my heart pumping, though. A generator blew when we were trying to send the databurst.”
“A generator blew out and everyone’s fine?”
John smothered a scowl, unbelievably pissed off at one Rodney McKay at the moment. “McKay was exaggerating, I’m sure it didn’t quite blow up..."
Carson gave him a weird look but let it go.
“You know what you could do, though?” John said. “Talk to Elizabeth. McKay told her the generator was going to blow and she---“ he shook his head. “She’s not okay.”
“Colonel,” Carson said, “she’s going to get through this.”
John gritted his teeth. Someone had left an equipment case in the hallway; he kicked it hard as he went past.
“Damn it.”
Carson shook his head. “You know, there’s a reason I went into genetics. There’s a nice, cozy distance from real problems, real pain.”
“She’s making bad command decisions.”
“And you’re doing your part to keep things together. I don’t envy you the responsibility, but I’d ask you to be more patient. She’s a strong lass but this is likely---“
“PTSD, I know, I know.”
Carson nodded, infuriatingly gentle and knowing. “You were there.”
“She shouldn’t be on duty.”
“I stopped pulling people from duty a long time ago. I can’t put the whole lot of you on medical leave, much as I’d like to.”
“Just Elizabeth. Before something worse happens. I’d kind of like Atlantis and all of us to stick around for a while.”
“Son, I won’t choose who’s more fit to command out of a bunch of tired, strung-out people. Between you and Elizabeth…I can’t, I’m sorry.”
John grabbed his arm; it was all he could do not to push him into a wall.
“My men trust me. The science team trusts me. If you don’t, that’s news to me.”
“Don’t be putting words in my mouth, lad, you know better than that. All I’m saying is… Things happen pretty fast around here, it’s hard to keep up. When we got you and Elizabeth back from the hive ship we were hip deep in trouble and there was never a chance for anyone to deal with any of it. We just keep moving, don’t we? We lost Kate, and I’m trying to keep you all together, body and soul, and what bloody good can I do? You have no idea how worried Elizabeth is about you.”
“That’s guilt, it’s a guilt complex or something. I’m fine.”
“Well, you’re probably the only one in this city who is.” Carson swallowed, his eyes unreadable, not giving in. “You should really get more rest, Colonel,” he said, then pulled away.
“Great, just great,” John muttered in the empty corridor. Then he remembered Rodney and made his way down, not in the least surprised to see the perfectly intact generator and the untouched room, Rodney tapping away at his damn computer. At least he looked a bit guilty when he saw John standing there.
“You going to tell me what really happened?”
“Later.” At John’s dark glare, he added, “Nothing I can’t fix. In fact, as you can see, there isn’t anything to fix, and it’ll look like I pulled a miracle, which, as you know, is nothing out of the ordinary.”
“You could have warned me,” he said tightly.
“John, I thought you knew, I figured you were on track.”
“I didn’t know you were going to fake an explosion.”
“I’m sorry.” Rodney shut mouth, then shut his computer down, and just looked at him, no excuses. Shifting on his feet and breathing out a lump of anger, John moved on.
“It felt stronger than last time,” he offered.
Rodney couldn’t help it, he was all but beaming. “Point-one second. It’ll look like a blip on the read-out but if you knew as much about Ancient technology as I do, you’d be amazed.”
“Yeah?”
“’Yeah?’ Understatement of the era, John.”
“So, you’re getting somewhere.”
“I am.”
*
Part Two