SGA Fic - First Impressions Pt. 1
Title: First Impressions
Rating: PG-13 for violence, some torture, and a parasite
Characters: Sheppard, Ronon, Teyla, McKay
Summary: The teams first mission with Ronon. What could possibly go wrong? Set in early season two, when Ronon first comes on the show. Written for esteefee for help_japan. Big thanks to wildcat88 for the beta.
First Impressions
“So is this how you guys train?” Ronon asked, tilting the game controller and mashing the buttons with the ferocity of someone who thought it would actually accomplish something.
John winced, both in sympathy for the control and out of fear of Ronon's overzealous handling snapping it in two. On screen, Ronon's guy was getting his ass handed to him, but his less-than-kind treatment of the control was, so far, the only indication that it bothered him.
“The military has been known to use video games for simulation purposes,” John said, doing pretty much what Ronon was doing minus the button abuse. “Let the new guys know what they'll be up against, help them sharpen their strategic skills - that kind of thing.”
“But it's not the only way you train.”
“Course not. We train all kinds of ways. On the ground, in the air, on the sea...” Though the more John talked, the more he felt like the only progress he was making was to shove his own foot deeper into his mouth. The guy had been on Atlantis a grand total of two weeks, with no real inclination to leave since he had nowhere else to go. Yet in all that time, in all of John's attempts to get to know him, John still didn't know anymore about the guy than he did when they'd first met. Yes, John knew he came from a world more advanced than most in Pegasus. Yes, he knew Ronon was former military. And, yes, he knew that Ronon was still acclimating to living a life no longer on the run. And it wasn't like John expected long hours of idle chitchat. But two weeks should have been more than enough for Ronon to feel comfortable enough to get past one-worded answers.
But Ronon was asking questions. That had to be something, right?
“So you play these games for fun?” was Ronon's next question.
“Yep,” John said, feeling slightly more bolstered. “Having fun yet?”
Ronon grunted, noncommittal, and John's bolster took a nose dive. That was obstacle number two - rocks were more expressive than Ronon was. John had no idea if the guy was stimulated, bored out his skull or thought the game and everything Earthling-related a joke.
And they had a mission in a couple of minutes. A cake walk, quiet and harmless, and a way to see if Ronon clicked with the team. But John couldn't help feeling like Ronon was the one who would determine if the team clicked with him. It made for a rather bad reminder of John's Middle School years; of trying so hard not to be pathetic while trying to impress the kid he wanted to be friends with that he ended up looking pathetic, anyway.
Except John wasn't trying to make friends with Ronon. Okay, he was, but above that he was just trying to make the guy feel welcome, comfortable, to give him a reason to stick around and help them out. And if Ronon decided he wanted to help out on another team, it would suck, but in the end it would be fine.
John was really hoping he didn't want to help out on another team.
“Give it time, you'll get the hang of it,” John said. Hopefully with the game controller still intact, he thought.
John's watched beeped, the controller saved by the swiftly flying passage of time. He hit pause, causing Ronon's head to twitch back in what might have been mild alarm, or mild annoyance, John couldn't tell.
“And that's exactly one hour Telby and the scientists are overdue. Again. Mission time,” John said, glancing at his watch that read three thirty pm. “Thank goodness for small favors that it'll still be daylight. No worries about scary monsters hunting us down.”
“Oh,” Ronon said, neutral, but tossed the controller aside and launched to his feet like a kid about to head off to Disney Land. Or a kid bolting at the end-of-the-day school bell.
John sighed, and with a slump in his shoulders, followed Ronon to the locker room.
-----------------------
“So,” John said quietly, boots crunching the soft white meadow grass. “Have any more enlightening conversations with the new guy?”
Teyla looked at John askance and raised an eyebrow in that amused but knowing way of hers. Ronon had taken their six, far enough behind that any conversation drifting his way would be nothing more than fragmented murmurs. At least John hoped it reached him in fragmented murmurs. The guy had survived seven years running from the Wraith, and that kind of perpetual survival could have heightened Ronon's senses to epic proportions. John knew better than to underestimate anything about him, but he was reaching his wits end with Ronon's lack of verbal participation.
“We have sparred,” Teyla said. She pressed her lips in a tight, uncertain line, then said, “But he is not one for conversation.”
“You've noticed.”
Teyla's smile was understanding. “It is difficult not to.”
“But tell me you at least got more out of him than I did. Know anything about how his military worked? How his world worked?”
“We did have a brief conversation on music. I did most of the talking, but though I do know Ronon enjoys listening to music he has no interest in playing instruments or singing.”
“Well, that's definitely more than me,” John said.
“Give it time. I believe he is still finding his way. I cannot imagine the difficulty involved in making such a transition as he is. He knew only survival for so long. That cannot be a mindset so easily shed.”
Now Sheppard was the one pressing his lips into a line.
“Perhaps this mission will help by providing focus for him,” Teyla said.
John angled his head just enough to see Ronon several feet behind Rodney, who was, as usual, engrossed mostly in his tablet and whatever readings it was giving him. Ronon had eyes only for their surroundings, but the distance and his head partially turned kept John from being able to judge his expression. If he was impressed, awed even, John couldn't tell. But how could he not be? P3X-897 wasn't exactly your standard world of trees, grass and birds. It was much more alien than that, verging almost on the surreal, the white trees tall and twisting with a canopy of pale-green spongy moss rather than leaves, the grass patchworks of pale yellow fading to snowy white and interrupted by islands of tiny rainbow flowers.
But the real kicker was the rock formations scattered throughout the meadow. They didn't look a thing like rocks, they looked like ice, rippling archways of glass rising high above the grass, some joining in jungle-gym configurations that were a sore temptation to climb.
The scientists had christened it some funky Latin name that meant crystal, while the marines went more practical with Crystal Planet (and, unfortunately, John didn't have enough authority to order everyone to not name things). It wasn't actual crystal, or glass, or (sadly) even diamond, but some new substance that nearly made the geologists and other rock geeks wet themselves in giddy elation. In fact, that was why John and his team were here, to bring home the overly giddy rock geeks who liked to ignore curfew.
Maybe something was wrong, and maybe something wasn't, but Sergeant Telby was just as much a rock geek as the rest of the rock geeks, to the point that he had gone along with the scientists' claims of radio trouble the last time they'd stayed out way past their allotted time.
Geeks and their geeking out. John wondered if this is what it was like to run a preschool. His hope was that by showing up in person bringing threats of KP duty (and lab duty under McKay's supervision), Telby and the geeks would wise up.
The glass/crystal arches glittered like sunlight off waves, and this was only the tip of the iceberg in terms of this world's visual wonders. Several klicks ahead on the other side of a moss-tree forest was the maze, the largest nest of glass formations closest to the gate, a labyrinth of pock-marked walls, archways, pillars, cave entrances and caverns - some of it polished smooth, some of it multi-faceted as diamonds. It was a place easy to get lost in, but so diverse and odd that getting lost would be intentional. John had been to this world five times, three of those times just for the fun of it, and he could never get enough.
It's what he loved about all this intergalactic travel stuff; stepping into strange new worlds that were literally strange, seeing things you only ever read about in sci-fi books, and even things no one could begin to imagine. Even Ronon had to be a little dazzled.
“Any people live here?” Ronon called. He didn't sound dazzled. He didn't sound like anything, not wary, not curious, not even bored.
“We made sure he wasn't a robot, right?” John whispered. Teyla merely smiled and shook her head.
It was Rodney who replied to Ronon's question, to the point as he always was when the answer wasn't of any real scientific interest to him. Though the planet could support human life as far as breathing the air and walking through the grass without kicking up any dangerous spores, it wasn't conducive to long-term living.
“In other words, unless you're looking for more than just a bad case of dysentery, then I highly suggest you don't eat or drink anything other than what's in our packs.”
“Don't forget the dangerous animals,” John said.
“Dangerous animals?” Rodney squeaked.
John rolled his eyes then turned, walking backwards and trusting Teyla to warn him if he was about to trip and land on his ass. “Dangerous nocturnal animals, as in they only come out at night.”
Rodney glared. “I'm aware of the definition of nocturnal, thank you.”
John smirked before facing forward.
“Is that what got your scientist guys?” Ronon asked next. He was being quite talkative today. Maybe John had made some headway with him after all.
“As long as they stayed in the maze they should be fine,” John said loud enough for Ronon to hear. “We had the zoologists spy on the wildlife in cloaked puddlejumpers and they noticed all the prey taking refuge in the formations. The theory is that the rocks either mess up the predators’ sight or hearing. Whatever the reason, you stay in the maze, you'll live.”
They entered the forest of white trunks and pale canopy. The ground was like one big carpet of fallen moss that had turned white and brittle, crunching softly under their boots. It wasn't a wide forest, less than a fourth of a mile before it ended suddenly, halted by the imposing polished wall of the maze, two stories high and the sun hitting it just right to reflect a couple of rainbows onto the ground.
But calling it a maze was an overstatement, with plenty of exits and entrances to choose from. It might take a while, but finding a way out wasn't impossible. In fact, it was a guarantee if you didn't mind some of your pathways being a little... erratic.
Case in point, the nearest entrance was a literal hole in the wall, a tunnel four feet off the ground and just big enough for them to crawl through on all fours without their packs lodging them in place. It was a short crawl, and ten seconds later their feet were firmly planted on glassy ground worn smooth and flat by a millennium of animal traffic. Walking on it felt not unlike walking on a skylight (John knew, a long story that involved boys being boys making stupid dares), slick but the rubbers soles of their boots providing excellent traction.
Although the formation wasn't technically a maze, just looking at all the walls, holes, and the many pathways to choose from was enough to make even someone as non-claustrophobic as John feel a little confined. That was where the markers came in, strips of colored duct tape stuck fast to the slick surface marking the trails. Bright green, John recalled, took you to the nearest exit, while the bright orange would lead them to base camp. Duct tape, handyman and off-world explorer's secret weapon.
Twenty minutes and much griping from Rodney about what was so damn fascinating about glass rocks that emitted no energy later, and they found themselves stepping out of a narrow ravine into a wide, almost round clearing like the surface of a frozen lake. Dominating the center was base camp, a nest of tents, the small clustered around the two large inflatables normally used for alpha sites. At first glance, everything looked normal: foldable tables still upright and still covered in equipment, lawn chairs sitting silently next to the smaller tents, someone's two-way radio on top of a small blue cooler...
“It's quiet,” Ronon said right next to John, making him jump. Damn the guy was quiet. But he was obviously thinking what John was thinking, his hand gripping the butt of his blaster as John's hands gripped his P-90.
There was no guard. Even if the rest of the rock geeks had wandered off to go chip off a few samples of glass, there should have at least been two guards wandering the perimeter.
John tapped his radio. “Sergeant Telby, this is Colonel Sheppard. Please respond.”
Static answered. He tried again. “Sergeant Telby, this is Colonel Sheppard. We've reached base camp and I'm a little disappointed to see a disturbing lack of protocol. In other words, where the hell are your guards? Over.” If there was one thing even Telby couldn't skirt around - and wouldn't even for the sake of pretty glass rocks - it was the most basic of protocol, specifically protecting the damn area from alien monsters that would want to rip them to shreds.
“Could be the rocks,” Rodney tried. He circled one finger in the air. “Something about them messing with radio signals?”
John shook his head. “No. They might cause a few hiccups but the disruption isn't that bad.”
Rodney nodded nervously and stated, “So... this is bad.” This was only his second time on this world, his first time spent safely tucked away in a jumper and cut short when the sensors had nothing of real interest (to him) to report.
“Looking that way so far,” John said. He raised his P-90. “Stay sharp. Don't just look but listen. The rocks can mess with your vision.”
He led the way closer to the camp. His team followed, Teyla and Ronon spreading out and Rodney keeping a little ways safely behind.
“Rodney?” John said.
But Rodney shook his head. “Not picking up any life signs. And I do know these rocks don't mess with Ancient technology. So unless we're dealing with another hibernating Wraith,” he shuddered, “then we're alone.”
John looked to Teyla who shook her head. She wasn't sensing any Wraith. Still...
“Let's always assume that the Wraith might not be the only ones who don't show up on an LSD when hibernating,” John said.
Rodney made a sound that might have been a whimper. John couldn't blame him. They moved slowly from tent to tent, each peek through the flaps a lesson in nerves, each sight of an empty interior a brief moment of relief followed by calls of all clear.
“Well, we can happily cross hibernating anything off the list,” John said when they regrouped at the larger two tents. “But too soon to discount Wraith just yet. If Telby and his people were scattered when a culling came and went, it would explain why the place is so neat and tidy.”
“I am not so sure,” said Teyla distractedly. Her eyes continued to wander, to search, and her body followed, prompting the men to take her lead. “Something was strange to me as we searched--” Suddenly, she paused, only to hurry forward. “Look here.”
It was a table covered in a mess of cards and poker chips as though they'd been quickly scooped and dumped.
“Oh, and this,” said Rodney from behind. They turned to see him holding up an iPod, its bright yellow case cracked.
John's stomach clenched and his hands around the P-90 clenched with it. “Okay,” he gritted out. “This is even worse.”
“Who the hell trashes a place only to clean it up?” Rodney asked.
“Exactly. So we're either looking at a kidnapping someone didn't want us to know about or--”
“A trap,” Ronon finished.
John exhaled sharply. “Exactly.
“So, jumper?” Rodney said hopefully.
John nodded, already heading back the way they came. “Hell yes.” But he stopped, staring at the radio on the cooler and the dark black tape wrapped around it, holding the switch down.
Rodney suddenly called out, “Whoa, whoa, we're not alone anymore, guys. Big group heading our way.”
John growled in frustration, “Damn it. Haul ass!” And raised his weapon, walking backwards as he waited for his team to hit the exit, Ronon lingering to take point.
“Rodney, where're they coming from?”
“East... no, wait. They're spreading out. More coming the other way. They're surrounding us!”
“This way!” John said, and bolted ahead, taking the lead, grabbing the LSD from Rodney's hand in passing. Several dots were converging, six in the west, seven coming from the east, spreading gradually out. John cursed under his breath when three of the dots blocked the way out.
The long way it was, then, the north end still clear. But they were coming too fast, the line of people narrowing quickly and about to pinch them in.
Then Ronon bellowed, “They're here!” two seconds before the first volley of rapid-weapon's fire chewed up the walls, stinging them with shards of rock and forcing them to duck.
Ronon was the first back upright and already exchanging fire. The blaster might not have been able to rip things up like whatever the hostiles were using (and John had a bad feeling they were using confiscated Lantean weapons) but the weapon fired fast and those red balls of energy were intimidating, whether set to stun or kill. John heard the grunt of a man going down, and didn't need to see to know the bad guys were being slowed. He glanced at the LSD to see their four dots at the edge of the line of hostiles still converging, some closer than others but no longer about to cut them off ahead.
John turned, making his way to the back of the line. “Teyla, take the lead!”
She gave him a curt nod, started forward and with a startled, pained cry crumpled to the ground like a puppet with cut strings. There was no time to find out what happened; John supported her on one side and Rodney the other.
“Go!” Ronon called, crouching at where the path made a sharp turn. “I'll cover you.”
“We go together!” John called back.
“I'll catch up. Now, go!”
More rock exploded over head and John felt new shallow wounds open up on his face and arms. As much as he hated it, as much as it made his stomach knot until he thought he might be sick, Ronon was right. The enemy was about to surround them; their window of opportunity to get out was now.
They had no choice. Grinding his teeth, John hitched Teyla higher and with Rodney's help carried her out of the two lines of closing hostiles. They took as much of a shortcut as they could, dragging Teyla through narrow holes and narrow passages. John had no idea how long they ran, how far they went, his mind stuck like a skipping record on the image of Ronon surrounded by an onslaught of gunfire, only a blaster between him and whatever those people had in store for them.
Seven years on the run, of never getting caught, of surviving, all about to be blown in a single moment. John couldn't leave him to that. He wouldn't leave him to that.
“In here,” John said, leading them into what looked like the wide mouth of a cave.
“Oh, yes, let's go hide in a cave made of glass. They'll never find us here. Are you kidding!” Rodney snapped.
“Got any better ideas!” John snapped back. But he'd been to this world and explored it just enough to know that the deeper the glass caves and thicker the glass the better they distorted. John found what they needed, a smaller cave within the larger, several feet off the ground. He handed Teyla off to Rodney, then jumped the short distance to the lip of the tunnel, pulled himself inside and let himself slide down the gentle incline. It was deep enough and wide enough to hide in comfortably. With a satisfied nod, John scrunched his body and turned around.
“Help her up, McKay,” John said. Rodney did as told, Teyla reaching up for John to grab both her hands and pull her inside, then he squeezed around her and reached for Rodney, pulling him after.
“Where're you hurt?” John asked, turning back to Teyla.
Teyla reached for her ankle, wincing. “Here. I believe it was just a graze. There was not enough blood to leave a trail.”
John, studying the wound as much as he could with Teyla's boot still on, grimaced. “Yeah but it's right over the ankle bone. Rodney, help her. I'm going back.”
“Going back!” Rodney yelped even as he squeezed past John while John squeezed past him. “Are you nuts! The guy survived seven years on the run. I'm sure he's fine and is probably finding his way to us now.”
“Or still pinned down. I'm not leaving him, McKay, we don't...”
“Yes, yes, we don't leave anyone behind. But--”
“I don't have time to argue!” John snarled, and dropped from the cave. “Stay here, stay down, wait for me to contact you. Barring that, wait for Atlantis to contact you. But whatever you do, don't leave.”
John took off back up the cave before Rodney had a chance to argue. This was even worse, leaving two more people behind, another who might still be pinned down or who might not be, hopefully the latter because he'd gotten clear and was now looking for the team. The difference was, Rodney and Teyla were safe, the mini-tunnel deep enough and glass thick enough to make them difficult to find. Maybe it wasn't a permanent solution, but it would buy Rodney and Teyla time.
And maybe Rodney was right. Maybe going back was a bad idea. Maybe John was underestimating Ronon's survival after all. But the bitch about guilt was that it refused to let him take any chances. John was the one who'd brought Ronon here, on what should have been a cake walk - ripped him from his taste of a life where he didn't have to run and landed him right smack in the middle of a life-or-death battle.
It wasn't about what Ronon was capable of. Hell yeah the guy could handle himself on his own, but he shouldn't have to.
John raced from the cave, straining his ears for the rapid pop of gun fire and whine of blaster fire. He thought he could hear it far enough away to be a distant crack, but sporadic, like hunters shooting at a buck moving too fast to get a good aim. Good. It meant that not only was Ronon still alive, he was no longer pinned down.
It didn't mean he wasn't wounded.
John followed the exchange as best he could, but it was all over the place, stopping and starting with human voices shouting in between. John ducked around a bend, only to double back and head left when the gunfire seemed to sound behind him. Turn after turn, sometimes cutting through tunnels and holes in the wall, the gunfire everywhere and nowhere. This place was officially a maze and there was no tape to guide him save for the green that would lead to a way out.
John considered following that tape and making it back to the gate to call in reinforcements when something fast and dark darted out from around a niche. John had only enough time to see a P-90 butt swinging his way, then there was pain, then nothing.
--------------------
Several not-so-gentle slaps to the face forced John back to awareness. It was a slow process, the darkness of unconsciousness vanishing quickly leaving in its place a blur of whirling shapes and color with muffled voices on the side.
“I think he's waking up.”
That John didn't recognize the closest voice sent adrenaline ripping through his body, putting focus to the blur. But instability stuck around, giving everything and everyone a twin trying to phase in and out of each other.
John moaned. He hadn't meant to, but his head hurt like a bitch, his stomach protesting in empathy, and the complete lack of familiarity with his surroundings wasn't helping. It looked like he was in a room made of cloth, a large tent cluttered with belongings: boxes, clothes, blankets, packs, weapons, even fold-away tables, but none of it Earth-made. It was like he'd landed in another base-camp, a rival to their camp looking to take over and claim whatever goodies this planet had to offer. His trepidation doubled over into panic when his eyes landed on what looked like a tray of surgical instruments. It tripled when he realized he was lying stomach down on a table, arms and legs strapped in place.
“Good,” said a female voice to his right. “Prep him.”
Another someone moved closer to his left, and before John could move to get a look at him, two large hands clamped over his head holding it still.
The owner of the female voice positioned herself in John's line of sight. She looked average height, possibly taller than Teyla but not by much. She was dressed for survival, coat, pants and shirt of a heavy, coarse looking material made to withstand just about anything, all of it various shades of brown, beige and even olive green meant to blend into Earth-like surroundings. Her auburn hair, though pulled into a pony tail, was in frizzy disarray, her face smudged with dirt and blood, and even standing three feet away John could smell that it had been a while since she'd last had a bath. In one hand, she held a hand-gun, bulky like a Genii gun but smaller. In the other, an Earth-made radio.
John was so distracted by the Lantean radio in non-Lantean hands that he yelped with the cold blade of a scalpel slid dangerously close to his skin. He was practically strangled when the blade cut through the material of his shirt, just enough to expose his upper back where spine met neck-bone.
“Hey, wait,” John panted, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it vibrating the table. “Hold up. What are you doing? What the hell is going on?”
“Hurry,” the woman said, harried and ignoring John like he was a piece of tech they were in a rush to rewire.
“Whoa, wait, hold on! Can't we talk about this? What the hell do you people want--” He sucked in a ragged breath when the blade finally met skin. He could feel its acidic bite slide over the thick knob of backbone at the peak of his spine, feel hot blood lick around his neck before soaking into his neck line.
“Damn it stop! Stop!” John cried out before his words were drowned in guttural defiance against the pain.
But the incision had nothing on what he saw one of the “medics” pull from a little glass box using a pair of forceps.
A worm, under two centimeters long, covered in tiny little spines and wriggling in desperation. John's eyes bulged.
“Oh you've gotta be kidding me,” he croaked. He squirmed pointlessly, but his body didn't care. It wanted to get away and it wanted to get away now.
The forceps with its nightmarish cargo vanishing out of sight made John struggle harder, and when he felt the wriggling inside the wound it amazed him that he didn't scream. He wanted to, tried to, but his lungs had locked up. The worm was inside him. It was crawling under his skin, shredding the vessels and muscles with its little spikes. He could feel it. Oh, crap, he could feel it.
“Close it up,” the woman said. They might have been suturing the wound, might have been bandaging it up; John didn't know because all he could feel was that thing making its new home inside his body. He was going to puke, but couldn't with his heart currently pounding in his throat.
Then someone slapped the back of his head. “Breathe!” And John took an involuntary and shuddering gasp.
John's head was unstrapped, though right now John couldn't bring himself to move even if he wanted to. The worm seemed to have found itself a nice comfortable spot to settle somewhere at the base of John's skull.
The woman crouched, putting her at eye level.
“Relax, the worm isn't going to kill you,” she said, like she was relaying instructions rather than comfort, and time was of the essence. “Once you tell us what we need to know we'll get rid of it. Where is your village?”
John blinked. “Huh?”
“Your village, town, city. The place we found was little more than a hunting camp. Where are your people located?”
John took an unsteady breath, clearing his head and reining in his nerves, much easier now that the worm had stopped moving.
“Not even going to exchange names, first?” he said hoarsely. He cleared his throat. “Mine's John. What's yours?”
“Where are your people?”
“You know, it's impolite not tell someone your name when they just told you theirs.”
“Where are your people?”
“It's also impolite to shoot first, ask questions later and put alien worms in people's backs.”
“Where are your people?”
“This your way of making polite conversation? Because it sucks.”
The woman, thank goodness, stopped her impression of a broken record. Instead, she sat back on her haunches, blowing air through her nose as her eyes tracked upward to the wanna-be surgeons standing out of sight. One of those surgeons finally made an appearance, a young guy that barely looked out of his twenties. He knelt in front of John and attacked both pupils with a flashlight.
“Still reactive but showing signs of sluggish dilation,” he said. “It's working, just slowly, keep at it.”
“Mind telling me what's working?” John asked, though he already had a pretty good idea. The only sign that he'd had a worm dropped into his neck was the burn of the sutured-bandaged-whatever wound in his neck. Whatever the worm's purpose, it was happening now.
“Where are your people?” the woman asked again.
John sighed, breaths still unsteady. “Look, lady, I have no idea what you're talking about. You took our people. Speaking of which, where the hell are you keeping them?”
The woman's brow creased in confusion. “The ones from the hunting camp escaped us.” At last, acknowledgment, even if it did spawn more questions than answers. “We need to know the location of your main habitation. Your village or town.”
“Why, so you can attack it, too?” John said. The woman's silence was answer enough. Rolling his eyes - which he really shouldn't have done, making the world spin again - John said coolly, “Lady, if you're looking to dominate some locals then you're on the wrong planet. There is no village. The only people are the ones in that camp. It's not a hunting camp or whatever; it's an outpost. We're explorers, scientists. We go to different worlds, check out their plants and minerals, maybe make friends with the locals but that's it. This planet isn't where we live; it's what we're studying.”
This only deepened the furrows in the woman's brow. “You're lying,” she said, but not accusatory. If John didn't know any better he could have sworn she was asking him if he was lying.
“No,” he said carefully. “I'm not. Don't you think reinforcements would have arrived by now if I was lying?”
The woman said nothing, staring at him long and hard the way McKay might when waiting for his laptop to cough up results. The moment of silence woke John to the fact that he was starting to feel a little off - dizzier, his ears starting to ache, his eyes blurring in and out of focus, his heart beating faster and his skin going clammy. And as much as he would have loved to contribute it to his possible concussion, he'd had enough concussions in his lifetime to know that this was something more, something that was growing exponentially worse.
John licked his suddenly dry lips. It was getting harder to think.
“Where are your people?” the woman asked.
“Told you,” John said. “On another world.”
“Which world?”
John snorted. “Like I'm telling you that.”
The woman glowered. “Which world?”
“Planet Kiss-My-Ass,” John said, and chuckled. He was captured, there was a worm in his neck doing who the hell knew what to his system, and he was laughing. Why the hell was he laughing?
“Okay, then,” the woman said tightly. “How about this. If this really is an expedition, did you just arrive or have you been here for some time? Do you know how to survive on this planet?”
“Been here for a while,” John said, starting to slur. “Couple of weeks. Pretty easy just... just stick to the glass rocks. Predators don't like the glass rocks.” There, he told her something. Maybe now she would leave him alone, because the “something more” was starting to feel a lot like the worst flu he'd ever had coupled with that time he'd gotten a bad case of swimmer's ear. The room was trying to phase into doubles again. That couldn't be good.
The woman opened her mouth, taking a breath to say more, when she froze. In that moment of silence John heard a crackling noise like a radio, only distant and muffled. The woman scrabbled at the ragged pocket of her coat until she produced a second radio, this one boxier with a circle for an antenna.
“Say again?” she said into it.
“Jayphen, Sec and Liel haven't reported in and we're unable to locate them,” was the breathless response. “Kala, it's getting dark--”
“Alem, calm down,” the woman - Kala - said without a lick of that calm she was demanding from her men. A look of dawning realization drained the color from her face. “They had the south end of the camp, near the rocks, right?”
“Yeah, yeah they did.”
Kala hissed a word too biting to be anything other than a curse. “You,” she said with a stab of her rigid finger at whoever was standing outside of John's sight. “And you. Stay here. Leyle, Kess, Jome, come with me.”
Booted feet stomped like a mini stampede from the tent on the trail of Kala demanding ten at the south end. The camp had been breached. John wanted to tell them to cry him a river, because that's what they get for opting for hostile rather than polite, but the thought alone of mouthing off felt like it would take more energy than he had. Right now, he was just glad they were gone, because there was a pain in his head like a rail spike being driven into his skull and it was spreading into his ears. Being able to focus was getting difficult, not just mentally but visually, the room blurring in and out. Every sound, every minor move he made even if it was just a twitch of his head brought on an onslaught of nausea and dizziness that would have floored him in an instant had he been standing. The more Kala planned to grill him, the harder it would be not to say something him, his team and probably the rest of Atlantis would end up regretting.
The pain reached his ears, like a needle to the ear drum. John hissed through gritted teeth. Crap, what the hell was this?
“He's feeling it,” said Guard One.
Guard Two snorted. “Know what that is? That's the Salek worm trying to make you its dinner. You can only find them on Fraxis. Dangerous world, Fraxis. Good place to hide from the Wraith, if you're that desperate. We're the only people to have survived it and barely. The Salek's toxin isn't powerful enough to kill you but it is powerful enough to weaken you for something else to do the job. Some predator takes you down while you're stumbling around, and the Salek eats whatever's left.”
Shifting, rustling cloth, stomping and, suddenly, one of John's guards was within sight, tall, broad build, dark hair and beard - nothing even remotely remarkable and mostly a blur, but his smile made John nervous.
“But the interesting thing,” the man said with the deep voice of Guard One. He had a finger raised as though making a point. “The interesting thing is that the predator knows not to eat where the worm is hiding, saving a nice little chunk for old wormy to gobble up later. We guess the beasts must smell it or something, because the worm always remains, or we wouldn't have caught your little friend currently filling your head with poison.”
“Wait 'til Kala gets back,” said Guard Two. “Doesn't matter what you do, you won't be able to shut up. The Salek makes you soft in the... Who the hell are you!”
Before John had a chance to answer, both men went down with an undignified thump, electric red still flickering around Guard One's body.
“Sheppard,” someone said, someone familiar, and John's eyelids fluttered in confusion.
“Yeah, how do you know who I--” He flinched back when a head buried in dreadlocks appeared in front of his face. He said dumbly, “Oh.”
“You okay?” Ronon said, already unbuckling straps. “You don't look okay.”
“Don't really feel okay, either,” John slurred. He moved his arms that felt like several pounds of wet sandbag into position for a push up, but getting into position was all he seemed capable up. “Little help... would be nice.”
More like a lot of help, with Ronon doing most of the lifting then supporting as John forced his way to his unsteady feet. It was hell. It was hell within hell, his brain sloshing around in his skull and his vision sloshing around his eye sockets. John clung to Ronon not giving a damn how it looked, because it was either cling or fall on his face and at least clinging didn't come with any further injuries.
“What the hell did they do to you?” Ronon growled, and John chuckled breathlessly. Ronon had used an Earth swear. It was funny.
“Long story, buddy,” John said, giving Ronon a pat on the chest with his free hand. “Long and scary story. Tell it to you if we live.”
“I'm holding you to that,” Ronon said. He helped (more like dragged) John toward the tent flap.
John chuffed. “You're already... holding me.” Then chuffed some more and winced, sucking in a breath that sounded uncomfortably like a whimper.
They crouched by the flap - Ronon crouched, John tried very hard not to fall on his ass - and peered through the narrow gap. John narrowed his eyes at what should have been daytime but was instead full blown twilight going to dark.
“How the hell long was I here?”
“A while. Long story. Tell you if we live.”
“Bastard.”
Ronon grinned, an honest to goodness grin.
“Okay, looks like only two guards. On the count of three, we go out blasting. One, two...”
A sudden burst of gunfire and screaming sent two guards running out of sight behind the tent, leaving the way free.
John blinked. “Or we wait 'til they leave.”
“I don't like this,” Ronon said, but didn't allow John the chance to ask why. Ronon burst out of the tent, pulling John with him.
Part 2...
Rating: PG-13 for violence, some torture, and a parasite
Characters: Sheppard, Ronon, Teyla, McKay
Summary: The teams first mission with Ronon. What could possibly go wrong? Set in early season two, when Ronon first comes on the show. Written for esteefee for help_japan. Big thanks to wildcat88 for the beta.
First Impressions
“So is this how you guys train?” Ronon asked, tilting the game controller and mashing the buttons with the ferocity of someone who thought it would actually accomplish something.
John winced, both in sympathy for the control and out of fear of Ronon's overzealous handling snapping it in two. On screen, Ronon's guy was getting his ass handed to him, but his less-than-kind treatment of the control was, so far, the only indication that it bothered him.
“The military has been known to use video games for simulation purposes,” John said, doing pretty much what Ronon was doing minus the button abuse. “Let the new guys know what they'll be up against, help them sharpen their strategic skills - that kind of thing.”
“But it's not the only way you train.”
“Course not. We train all kinds of ways. On the ground, in the air, on the sea...” Though the more John talked, the more he felt like the only progress he was making was to shove his own foot deeper into his mouth. The guy had been on Atlantis a grand total of two weeks, with no real inclination to leave since he had nowhere else to go. Yet in all that time, in all of John's attempts to get to know him, John still didn't know anymore about the guy than he did when they'd first met. Yes, John knew he came from a world more advanced than most in Pegasus. Yes, he knew Ronon was former military. And, yes, he knew that Ronon was still acclimating to living a life no longer on the run. And it wasn't like John expected long hours of idle chitchat. But two weeks should have been more than enough for Ronon to feel comfortable enough to get past one-worded answers.
But Ronon was asking questions. That had to be something, right?
“So you play these games for fun?” was Ronon's next question.
“Yep,” John said, feeling slightly more bolstered. “Having fun yet?”
Ronon grunted, noncommittal, and John's bolster took a nose dive. That was obstacle number two - rocks were more expressive than Ronon was. John had no idea if the guy was stimulated, bored out his skull or thought the game and everything Earthling-related a joke.
And they had a mission in a couple of minutes. A cake walk, quiet and harmless, and a way to see if Ronon clicked with the team. But John couldn't help feeling like Ronon was the one who would determine if the team clicked with him. It made for a rather bad reminder of John's Middle School years; of trying so hard not to be pathetic while trying to impress the kid he wanted to be friends with that he ended up looking pathetic, anyway.
Except John wasn't trying to make friends with Ronon. Okay, he was, but above that he was just trying to make the guy feel welcome, comfortable, to give him a reason to stick around and help them out. And if Ronon decided he wanted to help out on another team, it would suck, but in the end it would be fine.
John was really hoping he didn't want to help out on another team.
“Give it time, you'll get the hang of it,” John said. Hopefully with the game controller still intact, he thought.
John's watched beeped, the controller saved by the swiftly flying passage of time. He hit pause, causing Ronon's head to twitch back in what might have been mild alarm, or mild annoyance, John couldn't tell.
“And that's exactly one hour Telby and the scientists are overdue. Again. Mission time,” John said, glancing at his watch that read three thirty pm. “Thank goodness for small favors that it'll still be daylight. No worries about scary monsters hunting us down.”
“Oh,” Ronon said, neutral, but tossed the controller aside and launched to his feet like a kid about to head off to Disney Land. Or a kid bolting at the end-of-the-day school bell.
John sighed, and with a slump in his shoulders, followed Ronon to the locker room.
-----------------------
“So,” John said quietly, boots crunching the soft white meadow grass. “Have any more enlightening conversations with the new guy?”
Teyla looked at John askance and raised an eyebrow in that amused but knowing way of hers. Ronon had taken their six, far enough behind that any conversation drifting his way would be nothing more than fragmented murmurs. At least John hoped it reached him in fragmented murmurs. The guy had survived seven years running from the Wraith, and that kind of perpetual survival could have heightened Ronon's senses to epic proportions. John knew better than to underestimate anything about him, but he was reaching his wits end with Ronon's lack of verbal participation.
“We have sparred,” Teyla said. She pressed her lips in a tight, uncertain line, then said, “But he is not one for conversation.”
“You've noticed.”
Teyla's smile was understanding. “It is difficult not to.”
“But tell me you at least got more out of him than I did. Know anything about how his military worked? How his world worked?”
“We did have a brief conversation on music. I did most of the talking, but though I do know Ronon enjoys listening to music he has no interest in playing instruments or singing.”
“Well, that's definitely more than me,” John said.
“Give it time. I believe he is still finding his way. I cannot imagine the difficulty involved in making such a transition as he is. He knew only survival for so long. That cannot be a mindset so easily shed.”
Now Sheppard was the one pressing his lips into a line.
“Perhaps this mission will help by providing focus for him,” Teyla said.
John angled his head just enough to see Ronon several feet behind Rodney, who was, as usual, engrossed mostly in his tablet and whatever readings it was giving him. Ronon had eyes only for their surroundings, but the distance and his head partially turned kept John from being able to judge his expression. If he was impressed, awed even, John couldn't tell. But how could he not be? P3X-897 wasn't exactly your standard world of trees, grass and birds. It was much more alien than that, verging almost on the surreal, the white trees tall and twisting with a canopy of pale-green spongy moss rather than leaves, the grass patchworks of pale yellow fading to snowy white and interrupted by islands of tiny rainbow flowers.
But the real kicker was the rock formations scattered throughout the meadow. They didn't look a thing like rocks, they looked like ice, rippling archways of glass rising high above the grass, some joining in jungle-gym configurations that were a sore temptation to climb.
The scientists had christened it some funky Latin name that meant crystal, while the marines went more practical with Crystal Planet (and, unfortunately, John didn't have enough authority to order everyone to not name things). It wasn't actual crystal, or glass, or (sadly) even diamond, but some new substance that nearly made the geologists and other rock geeks wet themselves in giddy elation. In fact, that was why John and his team were here, to bring home the overly giddy rock geeks who liked to ignore curfew.
Maybe something was wrong, and maybe something wasn't, but Sergeant Telby was just as much a rock geek as the rest of the rock geeks, to the point that he had gone along with the scientists' claims of radio trouble the last time they'd stayed out way past their allotted time.
Geeks and their geeking out. John wondered if this is what it was like to run a preschool. His hope was that by showing up in person bringing threats of KP duty (and lab duty under McKay's supervision), Telby and the geeks would wise up.
The glass/crystal arches glittered like sunlight off waves, and this was only the tip of the iceberg in terms of this world's visual wonders. Several klicks ahead on the other side of a moss-tree forest was the maze, the largest nest of glass formations closest to the gate, a labyrinth of pock-marked walls, archways, pillars, cave entrances and caverns - some of it polished smooth, some of it multi-faceted as diamonds. It was a place easy to get lost in, but so diverse and odd that getting lost would be intentional. John had been to this world five times, three of those times just for the fun of it, and he could never get enough.
It's what he loved about all this intergalactic travel stuff; stepping into strange new worlds that were literally strange, seeing things you only ever read about in sci-fi books, and even things no one could begin to imagine. Even Ronon had to be a little dazzled.
“Any people live here?” Ronon called. He didn't sound dazzled. He didn't sound like anything, not wary, not curious, not even bored.
“We made sure he wasn't a robot, right?” John whispered. Teyla merely smiled and shook her head.
It was Rodney who replied to Ronon's question, to the point as he always was when the answer wasn't of any real scientific interest to him. Though the planet could support human life as far as breathing the air and walking through the grass without kicking up any dangerous spores, it wasn't conducive to long-term living.
“In other words, unless you're looking for more than just a bad case of dysentery, then I highly suggest you don't eat or drink anything other than what's in our packs.”
“Don't forget the dangerous animals,” John said.
“Dangerous animals?” Rodney squeaked.
John rolled his eyes then turned, walking backwards and trusting Teyla to warn him if he was about to trip and land on his ass. “Dangerous nocturnal animals, as in they only come out at night.”
Rodney glared. “I'm aware of the definition of nocturnal, thank you.”
John smirked before facing forward.
“Is that what got your scientist guys?” Ronon asked next. He was being quite talkative today. Maybe John had made some headway with him after all.
“As long as they stayed in the maze they should be fine,” John said loud enough for Ronon to hear. “We had the zoologists spy on the wildlife in cloaked puddlejumpers and they noticed all the prey taking refuge in the formations. The theory is that the rocks either mess up the predators’ sight or hearing. Whatever the reason, you stay in the maze, you'll live.”
They entered the forest of white trunks and pale canopy. The ground was like one big carpet of fallen moss that had turned white and brittle, crunching softly under their boots. It wasn't a wide forest, less than a fourth of a mile before it ended suddenly, halted by the imposing polished wall of the maze, two stories high and the sun hitting it just right to reflect a couple of rainbows onto the ground.
But calling it a maze was an overstatement, with plenty of exits and entrances to choose from. It might take a while, but finding a way out wasn't impossible. In fact, it was a guarantee if you didn't mind some of your pathways being a little... erratic.
Case in point, the nearest entrance was a literal hole in the wall, a tunnel four feet off the ground and just big enough for them to crawl through on all fours without their packs lodging them in place. It was a short crawl, and ten seconds later their feet were firmly planted on glassy ground worn smooth and flat by a millennium of animal traffic. Walking on it felt not unlike walking on a skylight (John knew, a long story that involved boys being boys making stupid dares), slick but the rubbers soles of their boots providing excellent traction.
Although the formation wasn't technically a maze, just looking at all the walls, holes, and the many pathways to choose from was enough to make even someone as non-claustrophobic as John feel a little confined. That was where the markers came in, strips of colored duct tape stuck fast to the slick surface marking the trails. Bright green, John recalled, took you to the nearest exit, while the bright orange would lead them to base camp. Duct tape, handyman and off-world explorer's secret weapon.
Twenty minutes and much griping from Rodney about what was so damn fascinating about glass rocks that emitted no energy later, and they found themselves stepping out of a narrow ravine into a wide, almost round clearing like the surface of a frozen lake. Dominating the center was base camp, a nest of tents, the small clustered around the two large inflatables normally used for alpha sites. At first glance, everything looked normal: foldable tables still upright and still covered in equipment, lawn chairs sitting silently next to the smaller tents, someone's two-way radio on top of a small blue cooler...
“It's quiet,” Ronon said right next to John, making him jump. Damn the guy was quiet. But he was obviously thinking what John was thinking, his hand gripping the butt of his blaster as John's hands gripped his P-90.
There was no guard. Even if the rest of the rock geeks had wandered off to go chip off a few samples of glass, there should have at least been two guards wandering the perimeter.
John tapped his radio. “Sergeant Telby, this is Colonel Sheppard. Please respond.”
Static answered. He tried again. “Sergeant Telby, this is Colonel Sheppard. We've reached base camp and I'm a little disappointed to see a disturbing lack of protocol. In other words, where the hell are your guards? Over.” If there was one thing even Telby couldn't skirt around - and wouldn't even for the sake of pretty glass rocks - it was the most basic of protocol, specifically protecting the damn area from alien monsters that would want to rip them to shreds.
“Could be the rocks,” Rodney tried. He circled one finger in the air. “Something about them messing with radio signals?”
John shook his head. “No. They might cause a few hiccups but the disruption isn't that bad.”
Rodney nodded nervously and stated, “So... this is bad.” This was only his second time on this world, his first time spent safely tucked away in a jumper and cut short when the sensors had nothing of real interest (to him) to report.
“Looking that way so far,” John said. He raised his P-90. “Stay sharp. Don't just look but listen. The rocks can mess with your vision.”
He led the way closer to the camp. His team followed, Teyla and Ronon spreading out and Rodney keeping a little ways safely behind.
“Rodney?” John said.
But Rodney shook his head. “Not picking up any life signs. And I do know these rocks don't mess with Ancient technology. So unless we're dealing with another hibernating Wraith,” he shuddered, “then we're alone.”
John looked to Teyla who shook her head. She wasn't sensing any Wraith. Still...
“Let's always assume that the Wraith might not be the only ones who don't show up on an LSD when hibernating,” John said.
Rodney made a sound that might have been a whimper. John couldn't blame him. They moved slowly from tent to tent, each peek through the flaps a lesson in nerves, each sight of an empty interior a brief moment of relief followed by calls of all clear.
“Well, we can happily cross hibernating anything off the list,” John said when they regrouped at the larger two tents. “But too soon to discount Wraith just yet. If Telby and his people were scattered when a culling came and went, it would explain why the place is so neat and tidy.”
“I am not so sure,” said Teyla distractedly. Her eyes continued to wander, to search, and her body followed, prompting the men to take her lead. “Something was strange to me as we searched--” Suddenly, she paused, only to hurry forward. “Look here.”
It was a table covered in a mess of cards and poker chips as though they'd been quickly scooped and dumped.
“Oh, and this,” said Rodney from behind. They turned to see him holding up an iPod, its bright yellow case cracked.
John's stomach clenched and his hands around the P-90 clenched with it. “Okay,” he gritted out. “This is even worse.”
“Who the hell trashes a place only to clean it up?” Rodney asked.
“Exactly. So we're either looking at a kidnapping someone didn't want us to know about or--”
“A trap,” Ronon finished.
John exhaled sharply. “Exactly.
“So, jumper?” Rodney said hopefully.
John nodded, already heading back the way they came. “Hell yes.” But he stopped, staring at the radio on the cooler and the dark black tape wrapped around it, holding the switch down.
Rodney suddenly called out, “Whoa, whoa, we're not alone anymore, guys. Big group heading our way.”
John growled in frustration, “Damn it. Haul ass!” And raised his weapon, walking backwards as he waited for his team to hit the exit, Ronon lingering to take point.
“Rodney, where're they coming from?”
“East... no, wait. They're spreading out. More coming the other way. They're surrounding us!”
“This way!” John said, and bolted ahead, taking the lead, grabbing the LSD from Rodney's hand in passing. Several dots were converging, six in the west, seven coming from the east, spreading gradually out. John cursed under his breath when three of the dots blocked the way out.
The long way it was, then, the north end still clear. But they were coming too fast, the line of people narrowing quickly and about to pinch them in.
Then Ronon bellowed, “They're here!” two seconds before the first volley of rapid-weapon's fire chewed up the walls, stinging them with shards of rock and forcing them to duck.
Ronon was the first back upright and already exchanging fire. The blaster might not have been able to rip things up like whatever the hostiles were using (and John had a bad feeling they were using confiscated Lantean weapons) but the weapon fired fast and those red balls of energy were intimidating, whether set to stun or kill. John heard the grunt of a man going down, and didn't need to see to know the bad guys were being slowed. He glanced at the LSD to see their four dots at the edge of the line of hostiles still converging, some closer than others but no longer about to cut them off ahead.
John turned, making his way to the back of the line. “Teyla, take the lead!”
She gave him a curt nod, started forward and with a startled, pained cry crumpled to the ground like a puppet with cut strings. There was no time to find out what happened; John supported her on one side and Rodney the other.
“Go!” Ronon called, crouching at where the path made a sharp turn. “I'll cover you.”
“We go together!” John called back.
“I'll catch up. Now, go!”
More rock exploded over head and John felt new shallow wounds open up on his face and arms. As much as he hated it, as much as it made his stomach knot until he thought he might be sick, Ronon was right. The enemy was about to surround them; their window of opportunity to get out was now.
They had no choice. Grinding his teeth, John hitched Teyla higher and with Rodney's help carried her out of the two lines of closing hostiles. They took as much of a shortcut as they could, dragging Teyla through narrow holes and narrow passages. John had no idea how long they ran, how far they went, his mind stuck like a skipping record on the image of Ronon surrounded by an onslaught of gunfire, only a blaster between him and whatever those people had in store for them.
Seven years on the run, of never getting caught, of surviving, all about to be blown in a single moment. John couldn't leave him to that. He wouldn't leave him to that.
“In here,” John said, leading them into what looked like the wide mouth of a cave.
“Oh, yes, let's go hide in a cave made of glass. They'll never find us here. Are you kidding!” Rodney snapped.
“Got any better ideas!” John snapped back. But he'd been to this world and explored it just enough to know that the deeper the glass caves and thicker the glass the better they distorted. John found what they needed, a smaller cave within the larger, several feet off the ground. He handed Teyla off to Rodney, then jumped the short distance to the lip of the tunnel, pulled himself inside and let himself slide down the gentle incline. It was deep enough and wide enough to hide in comfortably. With a satisfied nod, John scrunched his body and turned around.
“Help her up, McKay,” John said. Rodney did as told, Teyla reaching up for John to grab both her hands and pull her inside, then he squeezed around her and reached for Rodney, pulling him after.
“Where're you hurt?” John asked, turning back to Teyla.
Teyla reached for her ankle, wincing. “Here. I believe it was just a graze. There was not enough blood to leave a trail.”
John, studying the wound as much as he could with Teyla's boot still on, grimaced. “Yeah but it's right over the ankle bone. Rodney, help her. I'm going back.”
“Going back!” Rodney yelped even as he squeezed past John while John squeezed past him. “Are you nuts! The guy survived seven years on the run. I'm sure he's fine and is probably finding his way to us now.”
“Or still pinned down. I'm not leaving him, McKay, we don't...”
“Yes, yes, we don't leave anyone behind. But--”
“I don't have time to argue!” John snarled, and dropped from the cave. “Stay here, stay down, wait for me to contact you. Barring that, wait for Atlantis to contact you. But whatever you do, don't leave.”
John took off back up the cave before Rodney had a chance to argue. This was even worse, leaving two more people behind, another who might still be pinned down or who might not be, hopefully the latter because he'd gotten clear and was now looking for the team. The difference was, Rodney and Teyla were safe, the mini-tunnel deep enough and glass thick enough to make them difficult to find. Maybe it wasn't a permanent solution, but it would buy Rodney and Teyla time.
And maybe Rodney was right. Maybe going back was a bad idea. Maybe John was underestimating Ronon's survival after all. But the bitch about guilt was that it refused to let him take any chances. John was the one who'd brought Ronon here, on what should have been a cake walk - ripped him from his taste of a life where he didn't have to run and landed him right smack in the middle of a life-or-death battle.
It wasn't about what Ronon was capable of. Hell yeah the guy could handle himself on his own, but he shouldn't have to.
John raced from the cave, straining his ears for the rapid pop of gun fire and whine of blaster fire. He thought he could hear it far enough away to be a distant crack, but sporadic, like hunters shooting at a buck moving too fast to get a good aim. Good. It meant that not only was Ronon still alive, he was no longer pinned down.
It didn't mean he wasn't wounded.
John followed the exchange as best he could, but it was all over the place, stopping and starting with human voices shouting in between. John ducked around a bend, only to double back and head left when the gunfire seemed to sound behind him. Turn after turn, sometimes cutting through tunnels and holes in the wall, the gunfire everywhere and nowhere. This place was officially a maze and there was no tape to guide him save for the green that would lead to a way out.
John considered following that tape and making it back to the gate to call in reinforcements when something fast and dark darted out from around a niche. John had only enough time to see a P-90 butt swinging his way, then there was pain, then nothing.
--------------------
Several not-so-gentle slaps to the face forced John back to awareness. It was a slow process, the darkness of unconsciousness vanishing quickly leaving in its place a blur of whirling shapes and color with muffled voices on the side.
“I think he's waking up.”
That John didn't recognize the closest voice sent adrenaline ripping through his body, putting focus to the blur. But instability stuck around, giving everything and everyone a twin trying to phase in and out of each other.
John moaned. He hadn't meant to, but his head hurt like a bitch, his stomach protesting in empathy, and the complete lack of familiarity with his surroundings wasn't helping. It looked like he was in a room made of cloth, a large tent cluttered with belongings: boxes, clothes, blankets, packs, weapons, even fold-away tables, but none of it Earth-made. It was like he'd landed in another base-camp, a rival to their camp looking to take over and claim whatever goodies this planet had to offer. His trepidation doubled over into panic when his eyes landed on what looked like a tray of surgical instruments. It tripled when he realized he was lying stomach down on a table, arms and legs strapped in place.
“Good,” said a female voice to his right. “Prep him.”
Another someone moved closer to his left, and before John could move to get a look at him, two large hands clamped over his head holding it still.
The owner of the female voice positioned herself in John's line of sight. She looked average height, possibly taller than Teyla but not by much. She was dressed for survival, coat, pants and shirt of a heavy, coarse looking material made to withstand just about anything, all of it various shades of brown, beige and even olive green meant to blend into Earth-like surroundings. Her auburn hair, though pulled into a pony tail, was in frizzy disarray, her face smudged with dirt and blood, and even standing three feet away John could smell that it had been a while since she'd last had a bath. In one hand, she held a hand-gun, bulky like a Genii gun but smaller. In the other, an Earth-made radio.
John was so distracted by the Lantean radio in non-Lantean hands that he yelped with the cold blade of a scalpel slid dangerously close to his skin. He was practically strangled when the blade cut through the material of his shirt, just enough to expose his upper back where spine met neck-bone.
“Hey, wait,” John panted, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it vibrating the table. “Hold up. What are you doing? What the hell is going on?”
“Hurry,” the woman said, harried and ignoring John like he was a piece of tech they were in a rush to rewire.
“Whoa, wait, hold on! Can't we talk about this? What the hell do you people want--” He sucked in a ragged breath when the blade finally met skin. He could feel its acidic bite slide over the thick knob of backbone at the peak of his spine, feel hot blood lick around his neck before soaking into his neck line.
“Damn it stop! Stop!” John cried out before his words were drowned in guttural defiance against the pain.
But the incision had nothing on what he saw one of the “medics” pull from a little glass box using a pair of forceps.
A worm, under two centimeters long, covered in tiny little spines and wriggling in desperation. John's eyes bulged.
“Oh you've gotta be kidding me,” he croaked. He squirmed pointlessly, but his body didn't care. It wanted to get away and it wanted to get away now.
The forceps with its nightmarish cargo vanishing out of sight made John struggle harder, and when he felt the wriggling inside the wound it amazed him that he didn't scream. He wanted to, tried to, but his lungs had locked up. The worm was inside him. It was crawling under his skin, shredding the vessels and muscles with its little spikes. He could feel it. Oh, crap, he could feel it.
“Close it up,” the woman said. They might have been suturing the wound, might have been bandaging it up; John didn't know because all he could feel was that thing making its new home inside his body. He was going to puke, but couldn't with his heart currently pounding in his throat.
Then someone slapped the back of his head. “Breathe!” And John took an involuntary and shuddering gasp.
John's head was unstrapped, though right now John couldn't bring himself to move even if he wanted to. The worm seemed to have found itself a nice comfortable spot to settle somewhere at the base of John's skull.
The woman crouched, putting her at eye level.
“Relax, the worm isn't going to kill you,” she said, like she was relaying instructions rather than comfort, and time was of the essence. “Once you tell us what we need to know we'll get rid of it. Where is your village?”
John blinked. “Huh?”
“Your village, town, city. The place we found was little more than a hunting camp. Where are your people located?”
John took an unsteady breath, clearing his head and reining in his nerves, much easier now that the worm had stopped moving.
“Not even going to exchange names, first?” he said hoarsely. He cleared his throat. “Mine's John. What's yours?”
“Where are your people?”
“You know, it's impolite not tell someone your name when they just told you theirs.”
“Where are your people?”
“It's also impolite to shoot first, ask questions later and put alien worms in people's backs.”
“Where are your people?”
“This your way of making polite conversation? Because it sucks.”
The woman, thank goodness, stopped her impression of a broken record. Instead, she sat back on her haunches, blowing air through her nose as her eyes tracked upward to the wanna-be surgeons standing out of sight. One of those surgeons finally made an appearance, a young guy that barely looked out of his twenties. He knelt in front of John and attacked both pupils with a flashlight.
“Still reactive but showing signs of sluggish dilation,” he said. “It's working, just slowly, keep at it.”
“Mind telling me what's working?” John asked, though he already had a pretty good idea. The only sign that he'd had a worm dropped into his neck was the burn of the sutured-bandaged-whatever wound in his neck. Whatever the worm's purpose, it was happening now.
“Where are your people?” the woman asked again.
John sighed, breaths still unsteady. “Look, lady, I have no idea what you're talking about. You took our people. Speaking of which, where the hell are you keeping them?”
The woman's brow creased in confusion. “The ones from the hunting camp escaped us.” At last, acknowledgment, even if it did spawn more questions than answers. “We need to know the location of your main habitation. Your village or town.”
“Why, so you can attack it, too?” John said. The woman's silence was answer enough. Rolling his eyes - which he really shouldn't have done, making the world spin again - John said coolly, “Lady, if you're looking to dominate some locals then you're on the wrong planet. There is no village. The only people are the ones in that camp. It's not a hunting camp or whatever; it's an outpost. We're explorers, scientists. We go to different worlds, check out their plants and minerals, maybe make friends with the locals but that's it. This planet isn't where we live; it's what we're studying.”
This only deepened the furrows in the woman's brow. “You're lying,” she said, but not accusatory. If John didn't know any better he could have sworn she was asking him if he was lying.
“No,” he said carefully. “I'm not. Don't you think reinforcements would have arrived by now if I was lying?”
The woman said nothing, staring at him long and hard the way McKay might when waiting for his laptop to cough up results. The moment of silence woke John to the fact that he was starting to feel a little off - dizzier, his ears starting to ache, his eyes blurring in and out of focus, his heart beating faster and his skin going clammy. And as much as he would have loved to contribute it to his possible concussion, he'd had enough concussions in his lifetime to know that this was something more, something that was growing exponentially worse.
John licked his suddenly dry lips. It was getting harder to think.
“Where are your people?” the woman asked.
“Told you,” John said. “On another world.”
“Which world?”
John snorted. “Like I'm telling you that.”
The woman glowered. “Which world?”
“Planet Kiss-My-Ass,” John said, and chuckled. He was captured, there was a worm in his neck doing who the hell knew what to his system, and he was laughing. Why the hell was he laughing?
“Okay, then,” the woman said tightly. “How about this. If this really is an expedition, did you just arrive or have you been here for some time? Do you know how to survive on this planet?”
“Been here for a while,” John said, starting to slur. “Couple of weeks. Pretty easy just... just stick to the glass rocks. Predators don't like the glass rocks.” There, he told her something. Maybe now she would leave him alone, because the “something more” was starting to feel a lot like the worst flu he'd ever had coupled with that time he'd gotten a bad case of swimmer's ear. The room was trying to phase into doubles again. That couldn't be good.
The woman opened her mouth, taking a breath to say more, when she froze. In that moment of silence John heard a crackling noise like a radio, only distant and muffled. The woman scrabbled at the ragged pocket of her coat until she produced a second radio, this one boxier with a circle for an antenna.
“Say again?” she said into it.
“Jayphen, Sec and Liel haven't reported in and we're unable to locate them,” was the breathless response. “Kala, it's getting dark--”
“Alem, calm down,” the woman - Kala - said without a lick of that calm she was demanding from her men. A look of dawning realization drained the color from her face. “They had the south end of the camp, near the rocks, right?”
“Yeah, yeah they did.”
Kala hissed a word too biting to be anything other than a curse. “You,” she said with a stab of her rigid finger at whoever was standing outside of John's sight. “And you. Stay here. Leyle, Kess, Jome, come with me.”
Booted feet stomped like a mini stampede from the tent on the trail of Kala demanding ten at the south end. The camp had been breached. John wanted to tell them to cry him a river, because that's what they get for opting for hostile rather than polite, but the thought alone of mouthing off felt like it would take more energy than he had. Right now, he was just glad they were gone, because there was a pain in his head like a rail spike being driven into his skull and it was spreading into his ears. Being able to focus was getting difficult, not just mentally but visually, the room blurring in and out. Every sound, every minor move he made even if it was just a twitch of his head brought on an onslaught of nausea and dizziness that would have floored him in an instant had he been standing. The more Kala planned to grill him, the harder it would be not to say something him, his team and probably the rest of Atlantis would end up regretting.
The pain reached his ears, like a needle to the ear drum. John hissed through gritted teeth. Crap, what the hell was this?
“He's feeling it,” said Guard One.
Guard Two snorted. “Know what that is? That's the Salek worm trying to make you its dinner. You can only find them on Fraxis. Dangerous world, Fraxis. Good place to hide from the Wraith, if you're that desperate. We're the only people to have survived it and barely. The Salek's toxin isn't powerful enough to kill you but it is powerful enough to weaken you for something else to do the job. Some predator takes you down while you're stumbling around, and the Salek eats whatever's left.”
Shifting, rustling cloth, stomping and, suddenly, one of John's guards was within sight, tall, broad build, dark hair and beard - nothing even remotely remarkable and mostly a blur, but his smile made John nervous.
“But the interesting thing,” the man said with the deep voice of Guard One. He had a finger raised as though making a point. “The interesting thing is that the predator knows not to eat where the worm is hiding, saving a nice little chunk for old wormy to gobble up later. We guess the beasts must smell it or something, because the worm always remains, or we wouldn't have caught your little friend currently filling your head with poison.”
“Wait 'til Kala gets back,” said Guard Two. “Doesn't matter what you do, you won't be able to shut up. The Salek makes you soft in the... Who the hell are you!”
Before John had a chance to answer, both men went down with an undignified thump, electric red still flickering around Guard One's body.
“Sheppard,” someone said, someone familiar, and John's eyelids fluttered in confusion.
“Yeah, how do you know who I--” He flinched back when a head buried in dreadlocks appeared in front of his face. He said dumbly, “Oh.”
“You okay?” Ronon said, already unbuckling straps. “You don't look okay.”
“Don't really feel okay, either,” John slurred. He moved his arms that felt like several pounds of wet sandbag into position for a push up, but getting into position was all he seemed capable up. “Little help... would be nice.”
More like a lot of help, with Ronon doing most of the lifting then supporting as John forced his way to his unsteady feet. It was hell. It was hell within hell, his brain sloshing around in his skull and his vision sloshing around his eye sockets. John clung to Ronon not giving a damn how it looked, because it was either cling or fall on his face and at least clinging didn't come with any further injuries.
“What the hell did they do to you?” Ronon growled, and John chuckled breathlessly. Ronon had used an Earth swear. It was funny.
“Long story, buddy,” John said, giving Ronon a pat on the chest with his free hand. “Long and scary story. Tell it to you if we live.”
“I'm holding you to that,” Ronon said. He helped (more like dragged) John toward the tent flap.
John chuffed. “You're already... holding me.” Then chuffed some more and winced, sucking in a breath that sounded uncomfortably like a whimper.
They crouched by the flap - Ronon crouched, John tried very hard not to fall on his ass - and peered through the narrow gap. John narrowed his eyes at what should have been daytime but was instead full blown twilight going to dark.
“How the hell long was I here?”
“A while. Long story. Tell you if we live.”
“Bastard.”
Ronon grinned, an honest to goodness grin.
“Okay, looks like only two guards. On the count of three, we go out blasting. One, two...”
A sudden burst of gunfire and screaming sent two guards running out of sight behind the tent, leaving the way free.
John blinked. “Or we wait 'til they leave.”
“I don't like this,” Ronon said, but didn't allow John the chance to ask why. Ronon burst out of the tent, pulling John with him.
Part 2...