Fic "End Game" (1/2)
Title: “End Game”
Author:Kristen999
Word Count: 19,000-
Rating: T
Genre: Gen, Action, H/C
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Violence and coarse language
Summary: John is forced to fight for his life and the lives of his teammates. His opponent may be the most formidable he has ever faced... oh, and there’s also deadly radiation, freezing temps and hypoxia.
Written for coolbreeze1 for the sheppard_hc Secret Santa. Prompt at the end.
I wanted to thank the wonderful Wildcat88 for the swift and awesome beta!!
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The blue man’s exoskeleton suit was perfection, the ingenious material both waterproof and flame retardant. It flexed as skin, providing comfort against the outside elements and protection during combat. Wings spanning two meters fluttered in magnificence, his staff weapon forged of…
Rodney paused, contemplating the materials at his disposal and the amount of points he had left to spend on the ultimate battle weapon. Scaling back on intelligence was out of the question; perhaps he should skim a few off the strength attributes. Rubbing his pointer finger over the mouse, he dialed back on the physical characteristics when something smacked him in the back of the head.
Hitting save, he closed his laptop, setting it down before unraveling the balled piece of paper that accosted him. “Hey! This was from my copy of Astrophysics Monthly.”
“It’s the crossword page.”
“That’s the best part,” Rodney protested, eyes bulging at the empty squares, and glared at Sheppard. “You didn’t even solve them!’
“Left my pen in the other jumper.”
“Like you could do them in pen. And why are you talking to me? Shouldn’t your eyes be facing the HUD so we don’t collide with the meteor fields?”
“We went through those two hours ago, not that you would’ve noticed since your nose hasn’t risen from the depths of your screen.” Pulling out an apple and polishing it against his uniform, Sheppard loudly munched away. “That the new RPG you were going on about yesterday?”
“No. Um, maybe.” His game beckoned, daring him to finish his ultimate creation. Rodney reached for his computer when two meaty hands snatched it away. “Excuse me?”
“I want to play Halo,” Ronon grumbled, standing to his full height and purposely flexing his arms.
“Last I checked I wasn’t in charge of entertaining you.” Ronon didn’t hand over the laptop and Rodney glared at his team leader. “A little help here.”
“If someone hadn’t fried the spare one stored in the jumper, there wouldn’t be a need for sharing,” Sheppard said mid-chew.
“Was this when the jumper was zapped by yet another abandoned energy weapon and we would have all died of starvation on some barren rock unless I diverted power from the computer to open the doors?”
Ronon looked at him, over to Sheppard, then stole the computer, slouching in one of the chairs in the back. “Hey, this guy looks cool. Does he have a gun?”
Biting his lip wouldn’t keep Rodney’s temper under control. “No, he doesn’t have a gun. He has a staff weapon far superior to the Goa’uld’s, able to fire with pinpoint accuracy and…” He stopped, feeling the collective eyes of his teammates and crossing his arms in defiance. “It’s not my fault that the nearest space gate to the base is a eight hour trip.”
“And you’re hogging all the good distractions,” Sheppard jabbed, still snacking on that damn apple. Despite the good-natured ribbing, his eyes betrayed him, scanning the vast emptiness ahead intently. There was an hour left before they reached their destination.
“Staring out the window isn’t going to make us get there any faster. I’m sure communications are offline or the interference that’s been giving their LSDs fits has gotten worse. Considering who’s in charge of the science team, it’s a miracle that things have run as smoothly as they have.”
“I am sure Doctor Zelenka has done an admirable job overseeing the team,” Teyla said from the back, staring over Ronon’s shoulder at the computer in interest. “Was there a reason why the man you created is blue?”
“Blue’s a cool color,” Rodney defended.
“You chose it?” Teyla inquired.
This wasn‘t the conversation Rodney wanted at the moment. “Yes, it matched his outfit.”
“Fashion sense is a key to winning those types of games.”
“You’re jealous that my guy could kick your ass.” He did it, waved a stick at the lion. Rodney smiled smugly; Sheppard was taking the bait. “There’s an online mode.”
Sheppard didn’t say anything; the smirk revealed that the challenge had been accepted. Rodney had been building and tweaking the perfect character to counter anything Sheppard would ever come up with.
“I don’t get it,” Ronon rumbled.
“It’s called a role playing game. You play as someone else and go on adventures,” Sheppard explained in lackluster terms.
“Do you think your life lacks enough excitement?” Teyla teased.
“It’s the challenge of building the ultimate character and seeing how your skills match up against the computer or an opponent‘s.” Explaining Earth hobbies to those who thought bows and arrows were acceptable forms of entertainment was frustrating. Didn’t they get it? “I can choose mobility, strength, marksmanship. Or the ability to think in a crisis situation, charisma, leadership, I.Q. It’s like playing…”
“An all-knowing, all-powerful lord of his domain,” Sheppard mocked.
“I’d rather just shoot things. Less work.” Ronon dismissed the whole notion, clacking at the keyboard, undoubtedly destroying it in the process.
“If I have to fill out another requisition form because I’ve lost the T and R keys again, you’re hand-delivering it to Woolsey.” Ronon ignored him and Sheppard went back to staring out the view screen, as if mental power alone would make them get there faster. “There’s nothing interesting on that hunk of rock. We’ve had rotating teams exploring it for over six weeks now.”
“I’m the one who okayed scaling back personnel,” Sheppard said.
“Because there was no need for two teams of grunts to babysit one research team,” Rodney retorted. “Combat engineers are military trained the last I checked.”
There wasn’t a response, just the same silence of the last few hours. Without the distraction of his game, or the ability to complete real work thanks to the sanctioned theft of his laptop, Rodney was stuck sharing the oppressive quiet up front. Yes, the discovery of a deserted Ancient facility had the science departments buzzing, drooling in fact to explore the newest play land. Except the Willy Wonka Factory turned out to be a useless mine. No cool gadgets, energy sources, or even a brand new, unstable weapon of mass destruction. Just a desolate hidden moon-base without a single solitarily useful thing.
Then why hide it? Why have a facility that covered thirty square kilometers? Those questions had fueled the need for further exploration. To have a rotating science team and military contingent guarding a pointless moon-base. But Atlantis’ resources were not limitless; its personnel were stretched thin across the city and engaged in numerous off-world assignments. Choices had to be made. It’d been easy to cut the number of geologists, but those guarding it. Well, that wasn’t under his purview.
“ETA’s ten minutes, guys.”
Ronon powered-down the laptop, ready to carelessly plop it to the floor, then gently handed it over to Rodney with a grin. Seconds later, the grin was replaced with a serious game face. Pre-mission jitters left Rodney’s mouth dry and he nervously gulped down water from his canteen. In essence they were a living, breathing MALP. With an increase of tensions among members of the coalition and random attacks from a new band of raiders against their allies, keeping an additional platoon of marines on an empty moon-base had been deemed a waste of manpower.
Especially if said moon-base had been evaluated as a safe research site. And especially since it was Rodney’s conclusion that interference emitted by the mineral ore was the reason for the lack of daily radio transmissions. Ergo, the need to check out things personally.
A moon wasn’t round; it was chunky and brittle, a giant rock pulverized over millions of years by meteorites. This one was no different, the jagged surface marred by cracks and eroded gray mountains.
Teyla came over to the pilot‘s chair, eyeing the desolate area. “I wonder what the Ancients were looking for down there.”
“Or building.” Sheppard guided them toward the base of a large cliff. “They used to have a shield cloaking the whole base. If Lorne’s team hadn’t landed here to make emergency repairs coming back from M2X-629, we’d have never known it was here.” There were no signs of problems from the outside during the flyby. “Life signs, McKay?”
Rodney’s heart sank. “Um…according to this, I’m…I’m reading only three.”
“Out of twenty?”
“According to the sensors.” Rodney triple-checked to no avail, watching Sheppard‘s penetrating glare out the window. “I’ll try the radio.” There was no reply as they made their descent into the bay. “Wait. How do we know if the docking mechanism still works?”
“Because it won’t connect and I’ll have to find another way to land.”
Sheppard’s self-assurance didn’t keep Rodney from gripping the armrests tightly. The narrow shaft leading into the hidden chamber was the stuff of nightmares, the opening filled with jagged, rocky teeth, and it took a few fancy maneuvers to avoid smashing into them, just as the ceiling radically dipped and they squeaked inside.
“Oh, God,” Rodney groaned, but Sheppard sported a small smile, before reality snapped it closed.
“Disengaging the shield.”
Rodney studied the instruments as the colonel flew them in and reengaged a shield that was severely depleted. The landing area was scary as shit; strips of metal sticking out of a cliff with a mile sheer drop on all sides were the only things that allowed anything to land.
Teyla drifted over, face in awe at the spectacle. “If this was a secret base, why make it so difficult to get inside?”
Rodney let out a breath when the docking mechanism engaged, the jumper jolting as metal claps locked them in place. “Because the Ancients were paranoid. There’s nothing useful here.”
“Nothing useful, yet there are Ancient transporters, artificial gravity, life support--”
“Yes, yes. I’m sure they thought something was here, Colonel, but obviously they found it or they--”
“Hid it somewhere.” Sheppard attached his P-90 and zipped up his tac vest. “Zelenka reported odd blast patterns of what could have been a large scale weapon. There are living facilities and fluctuating power and energy readings.”
“It’s a mine. Ancient buildings had to be built out of something; maybe this was where the raw materials came from. Last I checked, people had to operate whatever miners used to dig ore. And I’ve studied those readings; the mineral deposits are the most likely reason for the anomalies.”
Teyla and Ronon exchanged expressions at the brewing tension. Rodney had supported pulling out of the base in favor of diverting resources to scour Janis’ lab. In an extreme flip-flop of events, Sheppard had been charmed or put under a spell by the geologists to give them more time to explain why there was such a large, concealed base in the middle of nowhere.
Woolsey had gone with Sheppard’s recommendation to keep searching.
Leaning against the side bulkhead in fake boredom Ronon broke the growing silence. “We just gonna stand here all day?”
“No, but let me check the radiation levels.” Working in a nuclear research station in Siberia had fortified his thick walls of paranoia regarding radiation poisoning. It was another reason this place scared the crap out of him. The radiation emitted from the nearby sun (nearby as in one hundred and seventy million kilometers away) would poach their vital organs in under eight hours. “I’m reading 100 roentgens.”
“That good?”
Rodney tampered a sarcastic retort at Ronon‘s serious face. “We’ll be fine. Our exposure will consist of the walk to the main entrance. ”
Teyla arched an eyebrow at his calm pronouncement. Hooking a thumb at one of the storage compartments, Rodney smiled. “Brought emergency solar radiation suits just in case.”
Sheppard hustled them out. The jumper ramp lowered and Rodney hung back, a sliver of platform the only thing separating them from a half mile of empty air and certain death. Who built a landing dais like this? Shoving his laptop into a knapsack, and adjusting the strap over his shoulder, Rodney grabbed his LSD, eyes attuned to the levels of the poison all around them. He followed the others out, cautiously aware of each step. No need to look down, he thought, not until they’d gone several meters to safety.
They walked under a low ceiling of pure moon rock, but it wouldn’t do a lick of good at protecting them from the sun‘s deadly effects. Despite the fact that he’d been here before, witnessing the fruits of terraforming a moon was still damn impressive. The resources needed to construct a base of this magnitude only sewed the seeds of growing doubt.
Why was this here?
“Any change?” Sheppard’s voice cut through his musings.
“No. Sorry.”
“That leaves three life signs to find,” Sheppard growled under his breath.
And seventeen bodies to bring home.
“Any indications of a malfunction or an accident?” Teyla asked, walking beside Rodney, weapon at ready.
“Since we haven’t been inside yet, the answer’s no.” But Rodney studied the red dots. “I don’t understand.”
“What?” Ronon scanned the gigantic doors that separated them from the safety of four real walls and a roof.
The red dots flashed and blurred, making it hard to pinpoint. “I’m not sure because of the interference, but one of the life signs appears to be out here with us.”
Three P-90s aimed for an invisible target, despite the fact that they were here looking for their people. “I think perhaps we should open the door.” Rodney headed toward the enormously large barrier and waved his hand over the sensor, brow furrowed when nothing happens. “Huh.”
“What’s wrong?” Sheppard tried the controls and was unable to coax the door open. “McKay?”
“On it.” Nothing worked and Rodney pulled out his laptop, connecting it with specially designed fiber optic cables. “I don’t understand,” he muttered when his screen remained blank. “Why aren’t you working?”
Sheppard played bird dog, LSD in one hand, P-90 crossed over his other arm. “I can’t get a bead on the target.”
“When did our guys become targets?”
“When seventeen are dead,” was tense Sheppard‘s reply. “I’m getting something twenty meters this way. Teyla, you’re with me. Ronon, watch Rodney’s back.”
Ronon paced the perimeter around the entrance. “Is there another way inside?”
“Um. Maybe? The whole front part of the complex juts out like a giant boot with a small ledge all the way around. I was…um…more interested in what waited on the other side of the door. I didn’t survey the outside area other then the death-trap securing our jumper in place.”
“If this was just a mine, wouldn’t they need large ships to haul the materials away?”
“Yeah, that’s why the science team spent so much time here. Sheppard’s right. There’s an awful lot of remaining Ancient equipment inside, even a few empty labs. But we’ve scoured the place for concealed rooms and I’ve analyzed all of Zelenka’s data bursts concerning the random energy readings.”
“And you think that’s because of a bunch of rocks?’
“The ore’s been giving the geologists kittens. It transmits a weird low-level frequency which might be the reason for this facility, but we’re not sure of the minerals’ value. It’s not like they left any research behind, which would have been kind of helpful.”
“Still can‘t get it to work?” Ronon was next to him, staring at the blank screen.
“Nothing. It won’t even acknowledge my computer.” Frustrated, he banged on the thick metal door with his fist in a very Ronon-like manner, pain radiating through his hand. “Ow.”
“You all right?”
“No! I think I just fractured my fingers.” Rodney cradled his hand, thinking icepack then aspirin, when the colonel’s yelling broke through the throbbing.
Sheppard carried someone in a very familiar clunky orange suit, with Teyla right behind him, covering their six.
“What happened?” Ronon demanded as Sheppard lowered an unconscious Zelenka to the ground.
“We do not know. He was holed up in a crevice,” Teyla informed them, weapon ready, eyes alert for danger.
“Is he our life sign out here?” Rodney asked, kneeling beside his fallen teammate, afraid to get too close if he was emanating cosmic rays.
“Yeah,” Sheppard huffed loudly for air. “That leaves two others inside somewhere.”
Teyla hesitated about removing the helmet and looked to Rodney. “Do you think I should--”
“Go ahead. He was probably out here to inspect the shield or repair it. That suit has protected him from the radiation, so it’s safe to remove it, ” Rodney replied.
It must have been like undressing a crash-test dummy, but Teyla got enough off to examine Zelenka. Rodney was reeling on a knife’s edge of panic and adrenaline. There was no blood or sign of any horrible open wounds.
She unfastened the buttons of his shirt, revealing more of Zelenka’s body than Rodney ever wanted to see. “There are no obvious signs of trauma,” she said, finger examining every inch of skull. “There is a large bump at the base of his neck.”
Not to mention a nasty shiner to his right eye.
“Did he have anything on him?” Rodney asked, cringing at how callous his words sounded.
“Yeah.” Sheppard handed him a handheld computer. “I saw another set of doors where we found him. I’m going to try to find another way in. Rodney, see if you can locate anything that’ll tell us what the hell’s been going on. We’ll stay in radio contact. Two minute intervals.”
Ronon followed Sheppard’s lead, blaster gripped in eager fingers. Zelenka’s computer droned as Rodney booted it to life, his fingers tapping codes and accessing files. Things were spiraling out of control, too many distractions vying for his attention.
It felt like only sixty seconds had passed, before something squawked in his ears and he realized ten minutes had gone by.
“McKay.”
“What?” he growled, tapping the buzzing com.
“We found a transporter, but it’s not working.”
“Of course not. I can’t even tap into the complex’s mainframe yet.”
“Can you see if you can work your magic on it? We need to get inside.”
“Do I need to remind you of the effects of radiation exposure the more we dilly-dally out here? That shield provides us with an atmosphere for breathing and to keep us from freezing to death. Nothing else. ”
“The more reason to get this transporter working.”
“Point taken.” Clicking the radio off, he glanced between Zelenka and Teyla. “I have to--”
“I will watch over Radek.”
Rodney hesitated about leaving her alone without back-up.
“Go!”
He ran, nearly toppling over in his haste, and at the same time he had no idea where to go. Your LSD. Rodney pulled out his lifeline, squinting at the two dots further away, two others blinking much deeper inside the sprawling complex. They needed to get the hell out of Dodge, grab Zelenka and return with a space bulldozer or whatever combat engineers used. Except he knew better, imagined himself where those two dots were, trapped inside a freaking moon, waiting on a rescue.
Red dots blinked a few hundred meters away, then vanished and Rodney froze in terror. “Sheppard? Ronon?”
“Over here!”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Hustling over, he screeched to a halt in front of a transporter. “Your dots disappeared,” he said accusingly.
Sheppard moved aside so Rodney could inspect the control panel. “That’s not good.”
“Yeah,” Rodney huffed, wondering if he could afford any more heart attacks. “You didn’t tell me this was actually functional.” The controls shined dimly with power, unlike the other monstrous door. “We might be in luck.”
“Nuthin’ happened when we went inside.”
Of course Ronon had to rain on his tiny glimmer of hope. “The doors actually opened?”
“Yeah.”
Then Sheppard stepped inside before Rodney could blurt out, “Wait, don’t!”
The doors slammed shut, the controls glowing brightly. Rodney was up like a shot, sore hand ready to slam the metal barrier. “Damn it!”
The transporter opened and Sheppard was gone. Ronon frantically stepped inside, grabbing Rodney by the tac vest. “Let’s go.”
Except nothing happened; the both of them were left standing, the controls shifting to standby. “Oh, no.”
Ronon banged on the panel despite Rodney’s shout of protests. “Don’t!”
“Why isn’t it working?”
“I’m not sure, but destroying the only means to get us inside won’t help!”
Ronon’s breathing was fast, Rodney’s faster, but that didn’t change the fact that Sheppard wasn’t there anymore. He’d been transported inside, and Rodney had no idea where or why.
-------------------
A tingling sensation crawled across his skin as he readied for his unexpected ride to end. Nothing jumped out at him when the doors opened, only darkness, and despite how much he wanted to confront it, he didn‘t move, trying to get the transporter to send him back. The control panel wouldn’t respond no matter how many times he gestured over it; the urge to smack it came to mind, but he knew better.
“McKay?” he yelled into his com, static his only reply.
Two of their guys were still MIA, so he flicked on his P-90’s light and stepped into the corridor, the doors whooshing shut behind him. Something ominous slinked down his spine and yeah, he was stuck here, because the transporter wouldn’t open back up.
John scowled at his LSD as he jogged; according to the display he was deep inside the base, practically on the opposite end from his team. The only good news was the two roaming dots skittering across the screen.
The hallway had been perfectly carved out, possibly by some fancy laser gizmo that the combat engineers had been probably beside themselves over. There were signs of a ventilation system along the ceiling, Ancient tech clashing with barren stone. Parts of the wall glimmered as he went by, recessed lighting iridescent every few meters. Thank goodness the artificial gravity still worked; the complex was powered by a ZPM on its last leg.
The two unidentified red dots were a few miles away according to scale. John studied their movements, that ominous tingle prickling to full fledged paranoia. Red Dot One’s engagements were classic evasive maneuvers, entering rooms, taking lefts followed by rights, never using the most direct route through the complex. Red Dot Two matched each direction; the two never occupied the same room.
Why weren’t they paired up?
John calculated a rendezvous point, hands curling around his weapon, the metal comforting him just a little. Picking up the pace, he pumped his legs, sprinting faster, sweat beading at his brow. The temperature was bearable, if not a little chilly; the thermostat might be wonky because Lieutenant Morris had reported that conditions inside had been comparable to the Atlantis.
According to the LSD, a large room was up ahead and the doors opened automatically, inviting him inside. Blood tarnished the ground in big fat splatter patterns. Kneeling, he traced his finger across a crusty stain at least a day old. His heart thudded loudly in his ears as he followed the rust-colored trail across the stone slate. God, there was so much of it. And to make things worse, there were two more massive pools with dozens of tread marks trampled all over them. A hall of horrors.
Shell casings littered the ground, small and large caliber. A war had broken out in here - cast-off splattered against the west wall, overturned crates used as cover, and scorch marks from a recent explosion streaked the ceiling. Swallowing past a lump in his throat, John hustled toward the barricade.
Son of a bitch!
He spotted a military issued boot, followed by a bloodied Atlantis uniform with charred holes the size of a silver dollars. It was Sergeant Martinez, his eyes open and vacant. John leaned over, closed the lids, fingers lingering on the dead pulse point and clammy skin. He retrieved one of the dog tags before checking the life sign’s detector.
Both dots were still on the move, closing in on his location. John was up and running, mind racing along with his footsteps. The dots closed in from three sectors away and he‘d be damned if they got a leg up on him. They were the enemy now, an unknown factor responsible for this carnage. All thoughts became a single pinprick, everything else deadweight.
His eyes darted between the LSD and straight ahead, and he charged toward the next room, all senses attuned to the slightest change. Rotting odors assaulted his nostrils - decay, blood, and heat. Eight or nine body bags were stacked in the corner, toe tags poking like white flags out of the ends. Bile mixed with rage, and he forced it into the pit of his stomach.
The red dots were a sector away, just a few more rooms. Adrenaline infused his veins and John sprinted faster to meet them head-on.
------------
“Where‘s John?”
Rodney didn’t mean to ignore Teyla, but the only real answer to this whole fubared situation lay with a certain unconscious physicist.
“Sheppard’s missing. The transporter sent him inside, but it’s broken now,” Ronon fumed. The only thing missing was smoke flaring out his nostrils and if Rodney didn’t know any better, he’d think the big guy planned on going back to those doors with a blow torch if he had one.
Teyla stood facing her teammates. “Do you know why?”
“Either the transporter malfunctioned when you guys first tried to activate it, and then miraculously worked for the two seconds it took to send Sheppard somewhere. Or…”
“Or someone took him,” Teyla finished his train of thought.
“We should go back. See if you can override it,” Ronon insisted.
Rodney was furious at the technological malfunction and the malicious blocks to keep him from learning the truth. “My computer wouldn’t connect to the panel, just like it won’t connect here. Either the mainframe switched operating systems, or something or someone is blocking my attempts.”
“It’s him,” a weak voice slurred.
“Radek?” Teyla crouched down, hand resting on the wounded scientist’s shoulder.
“Who are you talking about? Who’s him?” Rodney demanded.
“Give Radek a moment,” Teyla admonished, her eyes daggers. She turned to their injured teammate. “Would you like some water?”
Zelenka blinked, eyes tracking Teyla’s hands unsteadily then squeezing closed. “Yes, please.”
Teyla held the canteen to his lips, every second of silence a dentist drill to Rodney’s head. Ronon wasn’t much better, looming over them, a bulldog eager to give chase.
“Do you remember what happened?” Teyla asked.
A battered and bruised face creased in thought. “We were attacked.”
“Did you see them? Do you know their numbers?” Ronon questioned.
Zelenka shook his head, wincing. “Never saw him. Just…just glimpses.”
“Was it a Wraith?”
Ronon had a one track mind, but it was a valid question.
“No, he’s human.”
Rodney vibrated with anxiety. “He? I know your bell’s been rung recently, but who are you talking about? What happened?”
“They’re all dead.”
It shouldn’t have come as a shock to any of them, but hearing the words was a physical blow. The oppressive silence turned into heavy knots in all their stomachs and Rodney sat on the ground with a thud. “How?” he whispered.
Zelenka cradled his head. “He was everywhere. Hunted us down.”
Ronon growled under his breath, facial muscles twitching. “One guy killed everyone?”
“Yes.”
“Is he a replicator or some kind of alien?” Teyla asked gently, squeezing Zelenka’s shoulder in encouragement.
“No, he’s…” Zelenka grimaced, waving weakly at his handheld computer. “I downloaded what he was…before…before...”
“It is okay; give yourself time,” Teyla said. Zelenka’s complexion ashened further before he nodded and curled up on his side.
Rodney began searching for the newest file, eyes scrolling over page after page of data.
“What is it?” Ronon towered over Rodney’s shoulder.
“There are thousands of megabytes of information here; give me more than two seconds.” His fingers tap-danced over the keys, processing bio-engineering models, DNA strands, complex genetics that Carson would eat with a spoon. “This isn’t good.”
“McKay.”
“Don’t McKay me,” he snapped at his restless teammate. Ronon was on the verge of an aneurysm. Rodney could relate. “This appears to be years of research on an Ancient military program to create the perfect soldier.”
“The perfect soldier?” Teyla and Ronon book-ended each other, both of them blocking his light.
Rodney gnawed on his bottom lip, eyes glued to the rapid influx of information. “It’ll take me time, but we’re talking agility, strength, speed…intelligence…oh no…”
“What?” Ronon snarled.
“Stupid Ancients playing with--”
There was a loud metal snap, then a grinding sound.
“What the hell?” But Rodney realized in horror what that noise was. “No!’
Teyla and Ronon flanked him; the three of them ran toward the grating of steel, followed by a loud boom of metal on rock.
Rodney tripped, picked himself up, then reached the end of the docking bay, skidding to a halt. “Are you freaking serious?”
Ronon peered over the metal ledge. “Don’t think we’ll be flying home in that.”
Teyla stared over the gaping drop and back up at Rodney. “Atlantis will send help when we are overdue.”
Overdue. In ten hours.
Rodney studied his watch. “We’ll be dead by then.”
Because in six and a half hours, they’d be exposed to deadly levels of radiation.
----------------
John and Red Dot One were on a collision course, the blinking light lying in wait behind the next door. Both life signs followed parallel paths toward him, friend or foe, working in tandem or against one another. There was no telling, but it was time to find out. His tac vest scraped against the rocky wall as he inched closer -- the dot disappearing.
Damned interference.
A quick glance at the LSD confirmed the second bogey’s pursuit course and he burst into the room, the light of his P-90 strafing the darkened space. John’s eyes adjusted to consoles layered by ten-thousand year old dust and he went low, using the equipment as cover, dismissing empty areas and studying the staircase leading up to a platform. The perfect spot for an ambush.
He memorized the number of steps, cut off his light and dashed up, the soles of his boots echoing loudly. The clomping blew his surprise and his quarry reacted, feet scuffling above.
“Show yourself!” John shouted, flipping on the light, the beam bouncing up the last of the steps.
“Colonel Sheppard?”
John laid off the trigger at the familiar voice, taking the rest of the steps two at a time to kneel in front of the injured Marine. “Lieutenant Parker, what happened?” he growled. There was more blood than uniform, his fingers slick within seconds of searching for injury. “Lieutenant!”
Parker had been special ops, able to kill a dozen ways with a pencil. His usually sharp stare was framed by two black eyes and a face used as a punching bag. It was a miracle he was conscious, but then again, he was a Marine, a .45 still gripped in his shaking hand.
“Colonel,” Parker rasped, bloodied fingernails snagging John’s shoulder like a lifeline. “You- you gotta get outta here, sir.”
“That’s the plan,” John replied, racking his brain on the how.
“No…you don’t understand…he’s right behind me.”
Red Dot Two blinked three rooms away, closing the distance. “That other life sign. Is it responsible for what happened here?” John asked, eyeing the other door, checking his line of sight.
“Yes! Run, sir!” Parker coughed, spraying crimson droplets across John’s neck and chin. “He’s too fast. N-never…never see him comin’.”
“You didn’t battle ten weeks of PT on that leg just to fall back on your ass!” John snarled.
“Go!” Parker barked, shoving John bodily away, leaving bloody smears across his wrist.
Time was up according to the LSD and John placed himself in front of the marine, aiming at the door.
Wait for it. Timing was everything, three meters, two. Red Dot Two vanished from the LSD.
“Damn it!”
“Fire, sir!”
No time for distractions, but Parker was up, gun wavering in an unsteady grip, and then he crumpled to the ground.
John took his eye off the prize, diverting his attention toward his fallen man. Two raspy breaths, a couple slamming heartbeats, then a set of feet banged up the metal stairs.
He swung his P-90 around, only to stare down the end of another weapon, the barrel practically shoved into his face. The only think his brain registered was it lacked the scent of gun oil.
“Drop it!” Fury gave John’s voice deadly authority. Squeezing the trigger would cut this bastard down and likely get John shot in the process. Then who would bring Parker home?
Parker wheezed stuttering breaths fueled by terror and fury. His gun clattered from his grip and John shifted his body to cover the struggling Marine. “Don’t try anything; that’s an order,” he hissed without turning.
Staring down the end of a weapon was nothing new; the leather-gloved hand holding it was calm and cool. It looked like a rifle, the body of the weapon all smooth lines, no chamber or magazine. Probably another energy weapon, no telling how many settings it had.
The bad guy wasn’t talking, but John sized him up. This enemy wore a black uniform that was nearly invisible in the darkness, save for a belt and his bad-assed gun. Everything about this guy screamed military, the posturing, the attitude, except there was nothing spectacular about him. He was normal height and weight, with shorn light brown hair. Ordinary, but ordinary didn‘t take out a whole platoon of skilled Marines and a dozen geniuses.
“Lower your weapon,” John ordered. He had a bead on the middle of the man’s chest, a kill shot right through the heart, but pumping a couple rounds wouldn’t matter if under that black fabric were Kevlar plates or invisible energy shields.
“Lower yours,” the bad guy spoke.
Sweat beaded under John’s hairline; endorphins flooded his nervous system and coiled his muscles. “I bet we’re both good shots.”
“At my angle and distance, mine will burn a hole through your face and blow out the back of your skull. Without motor skills, you have no shot.”
“Want to test those odds?” John bluffed, adding pressure to the trigger, prepared to dive the other way.
“That particular test is unnecessary.”
John’s face remained stock still, narrowing his eyes when a man responsible for nearly twenty deaths, bent at the knees and placed his weapon on the step in front of him for no reason.
“Kick the rifle onto the first floor.” The bad guy followed John’s command, the weapon clattering to the ground below. Firing thirty rounds in five seconds would end this, but killing in cold blood wasn’t his thing, so John backed away four paces, placing distance between them. “Put your hands behind your head.”
The other soldier complied, causing John’s heart to saw through his breastbone. This is way too easy, John. “Now, very slowly, stand next to the railing. You twitch, and it’ll be the last thing you do.”
“You put much weight in your abilities. Do you possess high combat ratings?”
A soldier’s calm demonstrated experience or confidence in his abilities; this one exuded both. He waited for John’s answer, his breathing even, tilting his head curiously. “Where are you in the chain of command?”
“I have the gun. I ask the questions. Starting with your name.”
“My name?”
“Yes, your name.” John’s patience was razor thin. “Rank? Designation?” Gritting his teeth, he growled, “What. Do. You. Go. By?”
“Gene.”
Gene didn’t seem to fit with the image of cold-blooded killer. Then again, neither did the guy’s nondescript appearance.
“Is that weapon the only source of your skills?” Gene inquired.
John gripped the P-90 tighter, the gun an instrument of his command. “Place both hands behind you head, entwining your fingers.”
“Take him out, sir!” Parker pleaded. “He gutted Corporal Dominguez, left pieces of him all over the compound for me to follow. He slit Doctor Kowalski’s throat. Shot Doctor Boskins in the kneecaps. I tried protecting her the best I could, but he penetrated my defenses, took us out one by one.”
Dark stains reflected off John’s light; dried blood crusted all over ten fingers in the air in supplication. The slaughter in the halls flashed inside John’s head along with those stacks of body bags. He didn’t pull the trigger when his pulse thrummed, and he went to that dark corner of his mind that severed the connections to emotion. Cold sweat trickled down his back and his voice rumbled low and deep. “I said put your hands behind your head. I won’t order you again.”
Gene acquiesced, lacing his fingers as told. “Now what?”
Power was a funny thing; John had the gun, but he didn’t feel in control right now. Pegasus has been a cruel teacher: never underestimate the enemy. He didn’t have any wrist-ties, or Ronon’s stunner, and Parker’s safety was his main concern.
“Time for a nap,” John replied, and slammed the butt of his rifle against the soldier’s forehead.
Metal smacked flesh and bone; Gene’s neck snapped upon impact, but he didn’t sway, or even fall. John had plenty whacks to the skull before, and one thing was for sure. It was always light’s out. A trail of red welled up from the cut, dripping down the soldier’s nose, onto the floor. “Your demonstration of force was disappointing.”
Gene’s hands remained behind his head, but John’s instincts were screaming. He aimed an inch below the prisoner’s right knee and squeezed the trigger.
There wasn’t a shout of pain, or vomiting from shock of a trauma at such close range. Gene studied the fresh wound, brow furrowed. “To incapacitate a target impedes its ability to remain mobile,” he spoke, as if reciting from a manual.
John mind’s flagged red, and he reacted, firing point blank. Gene’s reflexes were faster. The P-90 was ripped out of John’s grip and he was backhanded with a glove of concrete. There wasn’t time to wonder if the strike broke his jaw, because he literally saw stars, his brain too stunned to do anything but throw an arm up for the next blow that knocked him off his feet.
“Sir! Colonel!…Hang on….Fucking bastard!”
“Parker,” John said dazedly, using the railing to get back up.
“Target Nineteen is no longer necessary to this exercise.”
Panic overrode pain and John let out a guttural scream. Bullets tore into the marine’s body as Parker was mowed down by John’s own gun.
Gene gave the automatic rifle a cursory glance before dropping it over the railing. “Projectile weapons are prone to malfunctions. What do you do when it runs out of ammunition?” he asked, oblivious to his act of murder.
Shock. Anger. Sorrow. The competition for dominance over John’s psyche left his mind numb, his body coursing with untapped energy, and he pulled out his .45 without forethought. Gene grabbed John’s wrist, bent it and the gun upwards, discharging five rounds in the process.
The muzzle flash scorched one side of John’s face, the roar of the gun an explosion of artillery inside his head. His skin sizzled; his eardrums rattled. The world faded in and out; all the while the .45 was easily torn from his fingers, Gene’s lips moving in slow motion in front of him.
“…rank…what was…mission…how many…”
John used Gene’s voice as a radar beacon, shoved his shoulder into bone and flesh, and took off down the stairs, thinking, find the P-90. Find the P-90.
The floor came out of nowhere and he rolled to meet it, doing nothing for his sense of orientation. Memory used to calculating lines of coordinates sought out the precise spot where his weapon fell. John bobbed between equipment, Gene nipping at his heels.
Spotting his gun, John lurched forward, heedless of the broken-stereo sounds all around. He grabbed the P-90, and brought it up to bear, while flipping onto his back.
Gene was right fucking there, and John fired, his target dodging the hail of bullets with inhuman speed. God, this guy was freakishly fast, nothing but a blurry outline dashing around consoles.
Who or what was he? Gene bled, crossing a Replicator off the list. John jostled to his feet, wheeling around the room searching for his target. One side of his face was on fire, his left eye squished closed, his hearing drowning under invisible water.
The seesaw of sound screwed up his balance and it took every ounce of concentration to follow the acrobatic feats of his opponent. John fired short volleys in anticipation of Gene‘s next move, aiming ahead of his forward motion. The P-90 clicked empty, and John realized Gene’s ultimate plan. Clever boy, forcing him to waste ammo, knowing he could out-dodge whatever John threw at him.
“This is … of the … ineffectiveness of the…your… weaponry.” Gene‘s words landed on half-deaf ears. “This however…” He bent over out of sight, and John rammed in another clip and repositioned.
Gene popped up like a jack-in-the-box, and John unleashed hell. Bullets struck the wall where Gene stood a second ago, the magazine jamming seconds later. Fuck. John darted toward the exit, thankful that he had the layout memorized, his one good eye scanning for movement.
Blue energy bursts impacted the door, nearly catching him in the crossfire. A quick canvass revealed Gene perched on top of the platform. What did he do, fly up there? There was no time to think, because volleys chased him into the opposite direction, mini fireworks licking his skin. Cover was nonexistent, panels exploded, equipment was set on fire. John ducked, rolled and spun, but no matter where he ran, blue surges found him. His uniform was singed somewhere, burning fabric a sharp noxious smell.
It was like shooting ducks in a barrel. Then why was he still breathing?
Gene was screwing with him, a cat teasing its prey and John wasn’t going to play anymore. “Enough of this!” he snarled.
“My weapon does not have a re-load time; there is no interruption in fire,” Gene lectured.
John’s legs shook from adrenaline overload, his face throbbed, and his hearing only partially worked. “Sounds like you have the advantage in superior firepower.”
“Firepower is one way to take out a target. It is responsible for eighty percent of all successful missions.”
The platform was the perfect sniper’s nest, covering all angles of the room. Only tiny movements would go unnoticed. Surviving this required a distraction, and there was no McKay to perform a miracle with chewing gum and a piece of tinfoil.
Playing injured, John leaned on the console, visibly resting his P-90 with his right hand, left hand slipping inside his tac vest. Always draw the focus away from your true objective. “What about Lieutenant Parker and his team? How long did he evade you and your superior firepower?”
“Tracking the units took time; they split up, and I took out the most vulnerable first.”
Keeping cool while discussing the murder of his people was a mental exercise in willpower. All he had was C-4 and two detonators, which wouldn’t do him a lick of good with Jason Bourne up there. “Why take out the weakest first? Why not the strongest?” he asked. His fingers dipped into the lower right vest pocket and he pulled out some explosive and pinched a piece off the block and applied it under the broken console.
“The strongest were the goal of the exercise; I merely followed my objective.”
The detonator was next. John stuck the wire charge in, priming it for the remote and slowly pushed off the console. “What’s your objective?”
“I will not reveal that to the enemy.”
“And how do you determine the enemy? I know my people didn’t initiate any attack on you,” John growled. He tethered the useless P-90 to his vest and headed to the other end of the room in a non-threatening manner, closer to the other exit point.
“Any unauthorized entry onto this base is an act of aggression to be neutralized.”
John used the bulk of the control panel in front of him to conceal his movements and pulled out the tiny remote, resting it on top of the console with his right hand. Rodney’s voice was in the back of his head, yapping about the odds for failure about his next move. He slipped his left hand into his vest and pinched off more C-4. His fingers felt around for another detonator, and found the plastic nodal, and sawed at the plastic wire with his thumbnail.
“We thought this place was abandoned. There were no life signs. Why didn’t you try to communicate with us?”
“My primary purpose is the defense of this base.”
“We would have left peaceably and avoided bloodshed.” John cut through the nodal with his thumbnail and squeezed the chemicals into a tiny paddy of C-4. He had seconds maybe. The chemicals Lead Stephanie and Aside were unstable primers in detonators, normally protected by their plastic-wire covers. A static discharge or even a fall from a few inches was enough to trigger a reaction. “Or is racking up high causality rates one of your objectives?”
“A hundred percent kill rate is the ultimate fulfillment of my duty. Why would I leave survivors?” was Gene’s reply.
Fire burned in John’s craw and he rested his right thumb on the side of the remote. “I‘ll be sure to pay you the same courtesy,” he deadpanned, activating it.
The nearby console exploded into flames, successfully diverting Gene‘s attention. John ducked to avoid flying shrapnel, grabbed the tiny ball of C-4 out of his pocket and tossed it left-handed at the platform. Normally C-4 wouldn’t do anything upon impact; however, this little bomb was unstable from volatile chemicals.
It slammed into the railing in a fireball. John was halfway toward the exit, the concussive force throwing him out the door. Surely Gene was mincemeat, but that would require a bit of good luck, and John didn’t think he had any on this mission. He never stopped running, going for distance, barreling down long stretches of makeshift hallways as if pursued by rabid Wraith.
Something told him Gene might be worse.
Staggering into the next wall instead of rounding a corner was his body’s signal to stop. The left side of his face pulsated madly, the desire to touch and check out the damage infuriating. It was as if nails dipped in acid had raked gouges across his cheek and neck.
His left eye was useless, his ears plugged with glue. Gene could be standing behind him and he’d never know it. Pulling out the life sign’s detector, his heart stuttered in his chest.
How the hell was this guy still alive?
A red dot blinked in defiance, though it wasn’t going after him. Maybe Gene was injured or the metal platform had collapsed on top of him and he was dying, bleeding out. John wouldn’t take the chance, and set off at a sprint toward his team. It finally occurred to him to try the radio again, and he waited a few minutes, putting more distance between him and the bad guy.
“McKay? You copy?’
“Ss-epprd?”
“Yeah.”
“Where the hell have you been? Are you all right? One of the dots disappeared and we…”
McKay was probably yelling in a high-pitched, frenzied voice, but the words were mud. “I really can’t hear you.”
“We’re in … of …here”
“What?”
“I said, we’re in a lot of trouble here. And why can’t you hear me?”
“I’m a little deaf. Why are you guys in trouble? What‘s wrong?”
“We’re going to die of radiation poisoning.”
John kept a brisk pace, trying to avoid things like inanimate objects. “Just get inside…”
“The jumper is currently lying at the bottom of the landing bay after someone released the docking mechanism.”
“There has to be a--”
“Way to save us? Yes, there is. You need to… reactivate… in the… But the only way to do it is to reach the control room which is twenty miles away at the beginning of the complex.”
Twenty miles? In prime shape, he could run that in a little over two hours. “How long?”
“We have…five hours left before…”
John poured on the speed, cranking his legs, his calves and thighs burning. He glanced down at the LSD and did a double take, rubbing his good eye. The damn dot was on the move.
“Crap. I’ve got some trouble of my own.”
“Wait! Sheppard, you don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
McKay gave him the abridged version on Gene. Catching every fourth or fifth word didn’t make what John learned any less scary. Something about weapons programs and genetically enhanced soldiers. “He’s human after all.”
“Super human. He also has the ability to heal rapidly.”
“I’m facing Wolverine?” John asked, incredulous. This was his worst nightmare and it was pursuing him. “Damn it.”
“Yeah, we… him moving, too.”
McKay’s voice faded in and out, and John shoved the radio further into his ear. “What? Never mind. You learn anything on how to kill this guy?”
“I’m still looking.”
“Keep searching. Switching to radio silence.”
Pocketing the com, he did a quick inventory; his only weapons were a K-bar knife and jammed P-90. John double-timed it, knowing if Gene caught up, he wouldn’t fall for his tricks again.
-----
Rodney had adapted a method of speed reading for school that worked for date/quote happy professors which eventually developed into a useful filter for garbage information. This undoubtedly helped in life, especially when dealing with alien egomaniacs. Was it necessary to postulate every conclusion with a streak of narcissistic ambitions that’d make Earth’s battiest dictators grin in envy?
“This program had to have been run under the Ancient’s noses.”
“Building an indestructible soldier might have changed the war,” Teyla said, walking over. “They built other major weapons. Created machines to increase their evolution. Why not build an army able to defeat the Wraith?”
“All their evolutionary research was for the purpose of Ascension; this...” he waved at the screen, “was for galactic domination. I’m sure the program started off as a plan to defeat the Wraith, but whoever was in charge had grander schemes.”
Rock clanking on ten inches of steel alloy reverberated inside Rodney‘s skull. Ronon grunted and growled and cursed, battering the unforgiving barrier with pointless bouts of violence.
“Will you stop that? Nothing you do is going to break it open. It was designed to withstand more force than that!”
Ronon whipped his head around, dreads obscuring face. “Some mutant soldier killed our teams and now it’s hunting Sheppard. You got a better idea?”
“No. And if that door was held in place by hinges, or any type of physical mechanism, then I’d be showing you the best technique to pry it apart. But this is a power-operated barrier that only a lot of C-4 could possibly blow up.”
As soon as the words left Rodney’s lips, Ronon shook his head. “Don’t have any.”
Teyla checked on a semi-conscious Zelenka. They’d dressed him back into his suit despite Rodney’s suggestion that they trade turns wearing it. “Maybe something on Radek’s computer might help? Another way inside or information on how to get around whatever is blocking your connection,” she suggested.
“Already ahead of you. I just established a link to the system using his laptop. Before you ask, I don’t why it let me in; maybe it’s because he had connected earlier and it recognized the ISP.”
“That is great progress.”
Rodney shook his head, dashing all of Teyla’s hope. “There’s like a hundred-bit encryption code on all vital systems except the ability to monitor life support, which will come in handy for counting down the minutes to our slow agonizing death.”
“Then find another way inside!”
“Fine! How about I give you a spoon and you start digging a tunnel. It’d take you what…ten thousand years!” Rodney snarled back at Ronon, frustration and fear fraying and ripping apart his nerves.
Teyla pierced them each with a commanding stare. “This will not help us get to safety and it will not help John.”
Rodney and Ronon mumbled apologies at the same time. Ronon closed both eyes and exhaled deeply. After a few cleansing breaths he popped his neck and tossed the large piece of moon rock to the ground. “You able to follow Sheppard’s movements with that?”
“Yeah,” Rodney replied, already bringing up the display. “He’s still staying ahead.”
“You sound surprised.”
Rodney peered up at Teyla. “I’ve just gleaned a fraction of these figures, but this is really, really bad. They called it the Genetically Enhanced Experiment for crying out loud, but despite the idiotic name, the results were damn impressive. The people in charge of the program successfully manipulated genes, not only to manufacture super-human abilities, but they also isolated protein molecules to help regenerate tissue and even bone at an abnormally high rate.”
“Healing abilities,” Teyla said grimly.
“Yes, Sheppard can joke all he wants about Wolverine, but why would a guy who can not only kill in a thousand different ways, but take a hell of a lot of damage, just wait around?”
“He’s observing,” Ronon said.
“Yes. According to this research, he was groomed to study, learn, and adapt to any tactic. Think about it. He’s been around for how many thousands of years?” Rodney didn’t know the hows or whys to all their lingering questions, including where the hell this guy had been hiding this whole time. At least not yet. “It’d make sense if he was testing Sheppard. Analyzing new methods before…well before--”
“Going after the kill,” Ronon said flatly. “Maybe he’s the one behind the transporter malfunction.”
“But why? How come John and not when Ronon was with him?”
Ronon shrugged at Teyla. “Don’t know.”
They both turned expectantly, waiting for Rodney to pull an answer out of his ass, but he was too busy freaking out. “Come on! It’s not enough that you’re genetically altered!” Before his teammates could pester him, Rodney turned the laptop over for them to see. “I thought these were just more anomalies popping up, but the temperature inside the complex has steadily dropped by nine degrees.”
“He wants to see how Sheppard will cope under extreme conditions,” Ronon deduced.
“Yeah, well, that’s not all. The oxygen saturation levels have slowly declined the last twenty minutes, not enough to be life threatening, but between extreme temperatures and low O2, Sheppard’s gong to wear down quickly.”
Rodney didn’t mention their increased exposure to constant amounts of roentgens. Secretly he hoped for a John Sheppard Hail Mary save, or one of his ridiculously whacked out ideas, but maybe this time, the odds were stacked too high.
That this time they were all going to die, just one of them was going to fall before the others.
---
“Part Two”
Author:Kristen999
Word Count: 19,000-
Rating: T
Genre: Gen, Action, H/C
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Violence and coarse language
Summary: John is forced to fight for his life and the lives of his teammates. His opponent may be the most formidable he has ever faced... oh, and there’s also deadly radiation, freezing temps and hypoxia.
Written for coolbreeze1 for the sheppard_hc Secret Santa. Prompt at the end.
I wanted to thank the wonderful Wildcat88 for the swift and awesome beta!!
------------------------
The blue man’s exoskeleton suit was perfection, the ingenious material both waterproof and flame retardant. It flexed as skin, providing comfort against the outside elements and protection during combat. Wings spanning two meters fluttered in magnificence, his staff weapon forged of…
Rodney paused, contemplating the materials at his disposal and the amount of points he had left to spend on the ultimate battle weapon. Scaling back on intelligence was out of the question; perhaps he should skim a few off the strength attributes. Rubbing his pointer finger over the mouse, he dialed back on the physical characteristics when something smacked him in the back of the head.
Hitting save, he closed his laptop, setting it down before unraveling the balled piece of paper that accosted him. “Hey! This was from my copy of Astrophysics Monthly.”
“It’s the crossword page.”
“That’s the best part,” Rodney protested, eyes bulging at the empty squares, and glared at Sheppard. “You didn’t even solve them!’
“Left my pen in the other jumper.”
“Like you could do them in pen. And why are you talking to me? Shouldn’t your eyes be facing the HUD so we don’t collide with the meteor fields?”
“We went through those two hours ago, not that you would’ve noticed since your nose hasn’t risen from the depths of your screen.” Pulling out an apple and polishing it against his uniform, Sheppard loudly munched away. “That the new RPG you were going on about yesterday?”
“No. Um, maybe.” His game beckoned, daring him to finish his ultimate creation. Rodney reached for his computer when two meaty hands snatched it away. “Excuse me?”
“I want to play Halo,” Ronon grumbled, standing to his full height and purposely flexing his arms.
“Last I checked I wasn’t in charge of entertaining you.” Ronon didn’t hand over the laptop and Rodney glared at his team leader. “A little help here.”
“If someone hadn’t fried the spare one stored in the jumper, there wouldn’t be a need for sharing,” Sheppard said mid-chew.
“Was this when the jumper was zapped by yet another abandoned energy weapon and we would have all died of starvation on some barren rock unless I diverted power from the computer to open the doors?”
Ronon looked at him, over to Sheppard, then stole the computer, slouching in one of the chairs in the back. “Hey, this guy looks cool. Does he have a gun?”
Biting his lip wouldn’t keep Rodney’s temper under control. “No, he doesn’t have a gun. He has a staff weapon far superior to the Goa’uld’s, able to fire with pinpoint accuracy and…” He stopped, feeling the collective eyes of his teammates and crossing his arms in defiance. “It’s not my fault that the nearest space gate to the base is a eight hour trip.”
“And you’re hogging all the good distractions,” Sheppard jabbed, still snacking on that damn apple. Despite the good-natured ribbing, his eyes betrayed him, scanning the vast emptiness ahead intently. There was an hour left before they reached their destination.
“Staring out the window isn’t going to make us get there any faster. I’m sure communications are offline or the interference that’s been giving their LSDs fits has gotten worse. Considering who’s in charge of the science team, it’s a miracle that things have run as smoothly as they have.”
“I am sure Doctor Zelenka has done an admirable job overseeing the team,” Teyla said from the back, staring over Ronon’s shoulder at the computer in interest. “Was there a reason why the man you created is blue?”
“Blue’s a cool color,” Rodney defended.
“You chose it?” Teyla inquired.
This wasn‘t the conversation Rodney wanted at the moment. “Yes, it matched his outfit.”
“Fashion sense is a key to winning those types of games.”
“You’re jealous that my guy could kick your ass.” He did it, waved a stick at the lion. Rodney smiled smugly; Sheppard was taking the bait. “There’s an online mode.”
Sheppard didn’t say anything; the smirk revealed that the challenge had been accepted. Rodney had been building and tweaking the perfect character to counter anything Sheppard would ever come up with.
“I don’t get it,” Ronon rumbled.
“It’s called a role playing game. You play as someone else and go on adventures,” Sheppard explained in lackluster terms.
“Do you think your life lacks enough excitement?” Teyla teased.
“It’s the challenge of building the ultimate character and seeing how your skills match up against the computer or an opponent‘s.” Explaining Earth hobbies to those who thought bows and arrows were acceptable forms of entertainment was frustrating. Didn’t they get it? “I can choose mobility, strength, marksmanship. Or the ability to think in a crisis situation, charisma, leadership, I.Q. It’s like playing…”
“An all-knowing, all-powerful lord of his domain,” Sheppard mocked.
“I’d rather just shoot things. Less work.” Ronon dismissed the whole notion, clacking at the keyboard, undoubtedly destroying it in the process.
“If I have to fill out another requisition form because I’ve lost the T and R keys again, you’re hand-delivering it to Woolsey.” Ronon ignored him and Sheppard went back to staring out the view screen, as if mental power alone would make them get there faster. “There’s nothing interesting on that hunk of rock. We’ve had rotating teams exploring it for over six weeks now.”
“I’m the one who okayed scaling back personnel,” Sheppard said.
“Because there was no need for two teams of grunts to babysit one research team,” Rodney retorted. “Combat engineers are military trained the last I checked.”
There wasn’t a response, just the same silence of the last few hours. Without the distraction of his game, or the ability to complete real work thanks to the sanctioned theft of his laptop, Rodney was stuck sharing the oppressive quiet up front. Yes, the discovery of a deserted Ancient facility had the science departments buzzing, drooling in fact to explore the newest play land. Except the Willy Wonka Factory turned out to be a useless mine. No cool gadgets, energy sources, or even a brand new, unstable weapon of mass destruction. Just a desolate hidden moon-base without a single solitarily useful thing.
Then why hide it? Why have a facility that covered thirty square kilometers? Those questions had fueled the need for further exploration. To have a rotating science team and military contingent guarding a pointless moon-base. But Atlantis’ resources were not limitless; its personnel were stretched thin across the city and engaged in numerous off-world assignments. Choices had to be made. It’d been easy to cut the number of geologists, but those guarding it. Well, that wasn’t under his purview.
“ETA’s ten minutes, guys.”
Ronon powered-down the laptop, ready to carelessly plop it to the floor, then gently handed it over to Rodney with a grin. Seconds later, the grin was replaced with a serious game face. Pre-mission jitters left Rodney’s mouth dry and he nervously gulped down water from his canteen. In essence they were a living, breathing MALP. With an increase of tensions among members of the coalition and random attacks from a new band of raiders against their allies, keeping an additional platoon of marines on an empty moon-base had been deemed a waste of manpower.
Especially if said moon-base had been evaluated as a safe research site. And especially since it was Rodney’s conclusion that interference emitted by the mineral ore was the reason for the lack of daily radio transmissions. Ergo, the need to check out things personally.
A moon wasn’t round; it was chunky and brittle, a giant rock pulverized over millions of years by meteorites. This one was no different, the jagged surface marred by cracks and eroded gray mountains.
Teyla came over to the pilot‘s chair, eyeing the desolate area. “I wonder what the Ancients were looking for down there.”
“Or building.” Sheppard guided them toward the base of a large cliff. “They used to have a shield cloaking the whole base. If Lorne’s team hadn’t landed here to make emergency repairs coming back from M2X-629, we’d have never known it was here.” There were no signs of problems from the outside during the flyby. “Life signs, McKay?”
Rodney’s heart sank. “Um…according to this, I’m…I’m reading only three.”
“Out of twenty?”
“According to the sensors.” Rodney triple-checked to no avail, watching Sheppard‘s penetrating glare out the window. “I’ll try the radio.” There was no reply as they made their descent into the bay. “Wait. How do we know if the docking mechanism still works?”
“Because it won’t connect and I’ll have to find another way to land.”
Sheppard’s self-assurance didn’t keep Rodney from gripping the armrests tightly. The narrow shaft leading into the hidden chamber was the stuff of nightmares, the opening filled with jagged, rocky teeth, and it took a few fancy maneuvers to avoid smashing into them, just as the ceiling radically dipped and they squeaked inside.
“Oh, God,” Rodney groaned, but Sheppard sported a small smile, before reality snapped it closed.
“Disengaging the shield.”
Rodney studied the instruments as the colonel flew them in and reengaged a shield that was severely depleted. The landing area was scary as shit; strips of metal sticking out of a cliff with a mile sheer drop on all sides were the only things that allowed anything to land.
Teyla drifted over, face in awe at the spectacle. “If this was a secret base, why make it so difficult to get inside?”
Rodney let out a breath when the docking mechanism engaged, the jumper jolting as metal claps locked them in place. “Because the Ancients were paranoid. There’s nothing useful here.”
“Nothing useful, yet there are Ancient transporters, artificial gravity, life support--”
“Yes, yes. I’m sure they thought something was here, Colonel, but obviously they found it or they--”
“Hid it somewhere.” Sheppard attached his P-90 and zipped up his tac vest. “Zelenka reported odd blast patterns of what could have been a large scale weapon. There are living facilities and fluctuating power and energy readings.”
“It’s a mine. Ancient buildings had to be built out of something; maybe this was where the raw materials came from. Last I checked, people had to operate whatever miners used to dig ore. And I’ve studied those readings; the mineral deposits are the most likely reason for the anomalies.”
Teyla and Ronon exchanged expressions at the brewing tension. Rodney had supported pulling out of the base in favor of diverting resources to scour Janis’ lab. In an extreme flip-flop of events, Sheppard had been charmed or put under a spell by the geologists to give them more time to explain why there was such a large, concealed base in the middle of nowhere.
Woolsey had gone with Sheppard’s recommendation to keep searching.
Leaning against the side bulkhead in fake boredom Ronon broke the growing silence. “We just gonna stand here all day?”
“No, but let me check the radiation levels.” Working in a nuclear research station in Siberia had fortified his thick walls of paranoia regarding radiation poisoning. It was another reason this place scared the crap out of him. The radiation emitted from the nearby sun (nearby as in one hundred and seventy million kilometers away) would poach their vital organs in under eight hours. “I’m reading 100 roentgens.”
“That good?”
Rodney tampered a sarcastic retort at Ronon‘s serious face. “We’ll be fine. Our exposure will consist of the walk to the main entrance. ”
Teyla arched an eyebrow at his calm pronouncement. Hooking a thumb at one of the storage compartments, Rodney smiled. “Brought emergency solar radiation suits just in case.”
Sheppard hustled them out. The jumper ramp lowered and Rodney hung back, a sliver of platform the only thing separating them from a half mile of empty air and certain death. Who built a landing dais like this? Shoving his laptop into a knapsack, and adjusting the strap over his shoulder, Rodney grabbed his LSD, eyes attuned to the levels of the poison all around them. He followed the others out, cautiously aware of each step. No need to look down, he thought, not until they’d gone several meters to safety.
They walked under a low ceiling of pure moon rock, but it wouldn’t do a lick of good at protecting them from the sun‘s deadly effects. Despite the fact that he’d been here before, witnessing the fruits of terraforming a moon was still damn impressive. The resources needed to construct a base of this magnitude only sewed the seeds of growing doubt.
Why was this here?
“Any change?” Sheppard’s voice cut through his musings.
“No. Sorry.”
“That leaves three life signs to find,” Sheppard growled under his breath.
And seventeen bodies to bring home.
“Any indications of a malfunction or an accident?” Teyla asked, walking beside Rodney, weapon at ready.
“Since we haven’t been inside yet, the answer’s no.” But Rodney studied the red dots. “I don’t understand.”
“What?” Ronon scanned the gigantic doors that separated them from the safety of four real walls and a roof.
The red dots flashed and blurred, making it hard to pinpoint. “I’m not sure because of the interference, but one of the life signs appears to be out here with us.”
Three P-90s aimed for an invisible target, despite the fact that they were here looking for their people. “I think perhaps we should open the door.” Rodney headed toward the enormously large barrier and waved his hand over the sensor, brow furrowed when nothing happens. “Huh.”
“What’s wrong?” Sheppard tried the controls and was unable to coax the door open. “McKay?”
“On it.” Nothing worked and Rodney pulled out his laptop, connecting it with specially designed fiber optic cables. “I don’t understand,” he muttered when his screen remained blank. “Why aren’t you working?”
Sheppard played bird dog, LSD in one hand, P-90 crossed over his other arm. “I can’t get a bead on the target.”
“When did our guys become targets?”
“When seventeen are dead,” was tense Sheppard‘s reply. “I’m getting something twenty meters this way. Teyla, you’re with me. Ronon, watch Rodney’s back.”
Ronon paced the perimeter around the entrance. “Is there another way inside?”
“Um. Maybe? The whole front part of the complex juts out like a giant boot with a small ledge all the way around. I was…um…more interested in what waited on the other side of the door. I didn’t survey the outside area other then the death-trap securing our jumper in place.”
“If this was just a mine, wouldn’t they need large ships to haul the materials away?”
“Yeah, that’s why the science team spent so much time here. Sheppard’s right. There’s an awful lot of remaining Ancient equipment inside, even a few empty labs. But we’ve scoured the place for concealed rooms and I’ve analyzed all of Zelenka’s data bursts concerning the random energy readings.”
“And you think that’s because of a bunch of rocks?’
“The ore’s been giving the geologists kittens. It transmits a weird low-level frequency which might be the reason for this facility, but we’re not sure of the minerals’ value. It’s not like they left any research behind, which would have been kind of helpful.”
“Still can‘t get it to work?” Ronon was next to him, staring at the blank screen.
“Nothing. It won’t even acknowledge my computer.” Frustrated, he banged on the thick metal door with his fist in a very Ronon-like manner, pain radiating through his hand. “Ow.”
“You all right?”
“No! I think I just fractured my fingers.” Rodney cradled his hand, thinking icepack then aspirin, when the colonel’s yelling broke through the throbbing.
Sheppard carried someone in a very familiar clunky orange suit, with Teyla right behind him, covering their six.
“What happened?” Ronon demanded as Sheppard lowered an unconscious Zelenka to the ground.
“We do not know. He was holed up in a crevice,” Teyla informed them, weapon ready, eyes alert for danger.
“Is he our life sign out here?” Rodney asked, kneeling beside his fallen teammate, afraid to get too close if he was emanating cosmic rays.
“Yeah,” Sheppard huffed loudly for air. “That leaves two others inside somewhere.”
Teyla hesitated about removing the helmet and looked to Rodney. “Do you think I should--”
“Go ahead. He was probably out here to inspect the shield or repair it. That suit has protected him from the radiation, so it’s safe to remove it, ” Rodney replied.
It must have been like undressing a crash-test dummy, but Teyla got enough off to examine Zelenka. Rodney was reeling on a knife’s edge of panic and adrenaline. There was no blood or sign of any horrible open wounds.
She unfastened the buttons of his shirt, revealing more of Zelenka’s body than Rodney ever wanted to see. “There are no obvious signs of trauma,” she said, finger examining every inch of skull. “There is a large bump at the base of his neck.”
Not to mention a nasty shiner to his right eye.
“Did he have anything on him?” Rodney asked, cringing at how callous his words sounded.
“Yeah.” Sheppard handed him a handheld computer. “I saw another set of doors where we found him. I’m going to try to find another way in. Rodney, see if you can locate anything that’ll tell us what the hell’s been going on. We’ll stay in radio contact. Two minute intervals.”
Ronon followed Sheppard’s lead, blaster gripped in eager fingers. Zelenka’s computer droned as Rodney booted it to life, his fingers tapping codes and accessing files. Things were spiraling out of control, too many distractions vying for his attention.
It felt like only sixty seconds had passed, before something squawked in his ears and he realized ten minutes had gone by.
“McKay.”
“What?” he growled, tapping the buzzing com.
“We found a transporter, but it’s not working.”
“Of course not. I can’t even tap into the complex’s mainframe yet.”
“Can you see if you can work your magic on it? We need to get inside.”
“Do I need to remind you of the effects of radiation exposure the more we dilly-dally out here? That shield provides us with an atmosphere for breathing and to keep us from freezing to death. Nothing else. ”
“The more reason to get this transporter working.”
“Point taken.” Clicking the radio off, he glanced between Zelenka and Teyla. “I have to--”
“I will watch over Radek.”
Rodney hesitated about leaving her alone without back-up.
“Go!”
He ran, nearly toppling over in his haste, and at the same time he had no idea where to go. Your LSD. Rodney pulled out his lifeline, squinting at the two dots further away, two others blinking much deeper inside the sprawling complex. They needed to get the hell out of Dodge, grab Zelenka and return with a space bulldozer or whatever combat engineers used. Except he knew better, imagined himself where those two dots were, trapped inside a freaking moon, waiting on a rescue.
Red dots blinked a few hundred meters away, then vanished and Rodney froze in terror. “Sheppard? Ronon?”
“Over here!”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Hustling over, he screeched to a halt in front of a transporter. “Your dots disappeared,” he said accusingly.
Sheppard moved aside so Rodney could inspect the control panel. “That’s not good.”
“Yeah,” Rodney huffed, wondering if he could afford any more heart attacks. “You didn’t tell me this was actually functional.” The controls shined dimly with power, unlike the other monstrous door. “We might be in luck.”
“Nuthin’ happened when we went inside.”
Of course Ronon had to rain on his tiny glimmer of hope. “The doors actually opened?”
“Yeah.”
Then Sheppard stepped inside before Rodney could blurt out, “Wait, don’t!”
The doors slammed shut, the controls glowing brightly. Rodney was up like a shot, sore hand ready to slam the metal barrier. “Damn it!”
The transporter opened and Sheppard was gone. Ronon frantically stepped inside, grabbing Rodney by the tac vest. “Let’s go.”
Except nothing happened; the both of them were left standing, the controls shifting to standby. “Oh, no.”
Ronon banged on the panel despite Rodney’s shout of protests. “Don’t!”
“Why isn’t it working?”
“I’m not sure, but destroying the only means to get us inside won’t help!”
Ronon’s breathing was fast, Rodney’s faster, but that didn’t change the fact that Sheppard wasn’t there anymore. He’d been transported inside, and Rodney had no idea where or why.
-------------------
A tingling sensation crawled across his skin as he readied for his unexpected ride to end. Nothing jumped out at him when the doors opened, only darkness, and despite how much he wanted to confront it, he didn‘t move, trying to get the transporter to send him back. The control panel wouldn’t respond no matter how many times he gestured over it; the urge to smack it came to mind, but he knew better.
“McKay?” he yelled into his com, static his only reply.
Two of their guys were still MIA, so he flicked on his P-90’s light and stepped into the corridor, the doors whooshing shut behind him. Something ominous slinked down his spine and yeah, he was stuck here, because the transporter wouldn’t open back up.
John scowled at his LSD as he jogged; according to the display he was deep inside the base, practically on the opposite end from his team. The only good news was the two roaming dots skittering across the screen.
The hallway had been perfectly carved out, possibly by some fancy laser gizmo that the combat engineers had been probably beside themselves over. There were signs of a ventilation system along the ceiling, Ancient tech clashing with barren stone. Parts of the wall glimmered as he went by, recessed lighting iridescent every few meters. Thank goodness the artificial gravity still worked; the complex was powered by a ZPM on its last leg.
The two unidentified red dots were a few miles away according to scale. John studied their movements, that ominous tingle prickling to full fledged paranoia. Red Dot One’s engagements were classic evasive maneuvers, entering rooms, taking lefts followed by rights, never using the most direct route through the complex. Red Dot Two matched each direction; the two never occupied the same room.
Why weren’t they paired up?
John calculated a rendezvous point, hands curling around his weapon, the metal comforting him just a little. Picking up the pace, he pumped his legs, sprinting faster, sweat beading at his brow. The temperature was bearable, if not a little chilly; the thermostat might be wonky because Lieutenant Morris had reported that conditions inside had been comparable to the Atlantis.
According to the LSD, a large room was up ahead and the doors opened automatically, inviting him inside. Blood tarnished the ground in big fat splatter patterns. Kneeling, he traced his finger across a crusty stain at least a day old. His heart thudded loudly in his ears as he followed the rust-colored trail across the stone slate. God, there was so much of it. And to make things worse, there were two more massive pools with dozens of tread marks trampled all over them. A hall of horrors.
Shell casings littered the ground, small and large caliber. A war had broken out in here - cast-off splattered against the west wall, overturned crates used as cover, and scorch marks from a recent explosion streaked the ceiling. Swallowing past a lump in his throat, John hustled toward the barricade.
Son of a bitch!
He spotted a military issued boot, followed by a bloodied Atlantis uniform with charred holes the size of a silver dollars. It was Sergeant Martinez, his eyes open and vacant. John leaned over, closed the lids, fingers lingering on the dead pulse point and clammy skin. He retrieved one of the dog tags before checking the life sign’s detector.
Both dots were still on the move, closing in on his location. John was up and running, mind racing along with his footsteps. The dots closed in from three sectors away and he‘d be damned if they got a leg up on him. They were the enemy now, an unknown factor responsible for this carnage. All thoughts became a single pinprick, everything else deadweight.
His eyes darted between the LSD and straight ahead, and he charged toward the next room, all senses attuned to the slightest change. Rotting odors assaulted his nostrils - decay, blood, and heat. Eight or nine body bags were stacked in the corner, toe tags poking like white flags out of the ends. Bile mixed with rage, and he forced it into the pit of his stomach.
The red dots were a sector away, just a few more rooms. Adrenaline infused his veins and John sprinted faster to meet them head-on.
------------
“Where‘s John?”
Rodney didn’t mean to ignore Teyla, but the only real answer to this whole fubared situation lay with a certain unconscious physicist.
“Sheppard’s missing. The transporter sent him inside, but it’s broken now,” Ronon fumed. The only thing missing was smoke flaring out his nostrils and if Rodney didn’t know any better, he’d think the big guy planned on going back to those doors with a blow torch if he had one.
Teyla stood facing her teammates. “Do you know why?”
“Either the transporter malfunctioned when you guys first tried to activate it, and then miraculously worked for the two seconds it took to send Sheppard somewhere. Or…”
“Or someone took him,” Teyla finished his train of thought.
“We should go back. See if you can override it,” Ronon insisted.
Rodney was furious at the technological malfunction and the malicious blocks to keep him from learning the truth. “My computer wouldn’t connect to the panel, just like it won’t connect here. Either the mainframe switched operating systems, or something or someone is blocking my attempts.”
“It’s him,” a weak voice slurred.
“Radek?” Teyla crouched down, hand resting on the wounded scientist’s shoulder.
“Who are you talking about? Who’s him?” Rodney demanded.
“Give Radek a moment,” Teyla admonished, her eyes daggers. She turned to their injured teammate. “Would you like some water?”
Zelenka blinked, eyes tracking Teyla’s hands unsteadily then squeezing closed. “Yes, please.”
Teyla held the canteen to his lips, every second of silence a dentist drill to Rodney’s head. Ronon wasn’t much better, looming over them, a bulldog eager to give chase.
“Do you remember what happened?” Teyla asked.
A battered and bruised face creased in thought. “We were attacked.”
“Did you see them? Do you know their numbers?” Ronon questioned.
Zelenka shook his head, wincing. “Never saw him. Just…just glimpses.”
“Was it a Wraith?”
Ronon had a one track mind, but it was a valid question.
“No, he’s human.”
Rodney vibrated with anxiety. “He? I know your bell’s been rung recently, but who are you talking about? What happened?”
“They’re all dead.”
It shouldn’t have come as a shock to any of them, but hearing the words was a physical blow. The oppressive silence turned into heavy knots in all their stomachs and Rodney sat on the ground with a thud. “How?” he whispered.
Zelenka cradled his head. “He was everywhere. Hunted us down.”
Ronon growled under his breath, facial muscles twitching. “One guy killed everyone?”
“Yes.”
“Is he a replicator or some kind of alien?” Teyla asked gently, squeezing Zelenka’s shoulder in encouragement.
“No, he’s…” Zelenka grimaced, waving weakly at his handheld computer. “I downloaded what he was…before…before...”
“It is okay; give yourself time,” Teyla said. Zelenka’s complexion ashened further before he nodded and curled up on his side.
Rodney began searching for the newest file, eyes scrolling over page after page of data.
“What is it?” Ronon towered over Rodney’s shoulder.
“There are thousands of megabytes of information here; give me more than two seconds.” His fingers tap-danced over the keys, processing bio-engineering models, DNA strands, complex genetics that Carson would eat with a spoon. “This isn’t good.”
“McKay.”
“Don’t McKay me,” he snapped at his restless teammate. Ronon was on the verge of an aneurysm. Rodney could relate. “This appears to be years of research on an Ancient military program to create the perfect soldier.”
“The perfect soldier?” Teyla and Ronon book-ended each other, both of them blocking his light.
Rodney gnawed on his bottom lip, eyes glued to the rapid influx of information. “It’ll take me time, but we’re talking agility, strength, speed…intelligence…oh no…”
“What?” Ronon snarled.
“Stupid Ancients playing with--”
There was a loud metal snap, then a grinding sound.
“What the hell?” But Rodney realized in horror what that noise was. “No!’
Teyla and Ronon flanked him; the three of them ran toward the grating of steel, followed by a loud boom of metal on rock.
Rodney tripped, picked himself up, then reached the end of the docking bay, skidding to a halt. “Are you freaking serious?”
Ronon peered over the metal ledge. “Don’t think we’ll be flying home in that.”
Teyla stared over the gaping drop and back up at Rodney. “Atlantis will send help when we are overdue.”
Overdue. In ten hours.
Rodney studied his watch. “We’ll be dead by then.”
Because in six and a half hours, they’d be exposed to deadly levels of radiation.
----------------
John and Red Dot One were on a collision course, the blinking light lying in wait behind the next door. Both life signs followed parallel paths toward him, friend or foe, working in tandem or against one another. There was no telling, but it was time to find out. His tac vest scraped against the rocky wall as he inched closer -- the dot disappearing.
Damned interference.
A quick glance at the LSD confirmed the second bogey’s pursuit course and he burst into the room, the light of his P-90 strafing the darkened space. John’s eyes adjusted to consoles layered by ten-thousand year old dust and he went low, using the equipment as cover, dismissing empty areas and studying the staircase leading up to a platform. The perfect spot for an ambush.
He memorized the number of steps, cut off his light and dashed up, the soles of his boots echoing loudly. The clomping blew his surprise and his quarry reacted, feet scuffling above.
“Show yourself!” John shouted, flipping on the light, the beam bouncing up the last of the steps.
“Colonel Sheppard?”
John laid off the trigger at the familiar voice, taking the rest of the steps two at a time to kneel in front of the injured Marine. “Lieutenant Parker, what happened?” he growled. There was more blood than uniform, his fingers slick within seconds of searching for injury. “Lieutenant!”
Parker had been special ops, able to kill a dozen ways with a pencil. His usually sharp stare was framed by two black eyes and a face used as a punching bag. It was a miracle he was conscious, but then again, he was a Marine, a .45 still gripped in his shaking hand.
“Colonel,” Parker rasped, bloodied fingernails snagging John’s shoulder like a lifeline. “You- you gotta get outta here, sir.”
“That’s the plan,” John replied, racking his brain on the how.
“No…you don’t understand…he’s right behind me.”
Red Dot Two blinked three rooms away, closing the distance. “That other life sign. Is it responsible for what happened here?” John asked, eyeing the other door, checking his line of sight.
“Yes! Run, sir!” Parker coughed, spraying crimson droplets across John’s neck and chin. “He’s too fast. N-never…never see him comin’.”
“You didn’t battle ten weeks of PT on that leg just to fall back on your ass!” John snarled.
“Go!” Parker barked, shoving John bodily away, leaving bloody smears across his wrist.
Time was up according to the LSD and John placed himself in front of the marine, aiming at the door.
Wait for it. Timing was everything, three meters, two. Red Dot Two vanished from the LSD.
“Damn it!”
“Fire, sir!”
No time for distractions, but Parker was up, gun wavering in an unsteady grip, and then he crumpled to the ground.
John took his eye off the prize, diverting his attention toward his fallen man. Two raspy breaths, a couple slamming heartbeats, then a set of feet banged up the metal stairs.
He swung his P-90 around, only to stare down the end of another weapon, the barrel practically shoved into his face. The only think his brain registered was it lacked the scent of gun oil.
“Drop it!” Fury gave John’s voice deadly authority. Squeezing the trigger would cut this bastard down and likely get John shot in the process. Then who would bring Parker home?
Parker wheezed stuttering breaths fueled by terror and fury. His gun clattered from his grip and John shifted his body to cover the struggling Marine. “Don’t try anything; that’s an order,” he hissed without turning.
Staring down the end of a weapon was nothing new; the leather-gloved hand holding it was calm and cool. It looked like a rifle, the body of the weapon all smooth lines, no chamber or magazine. Probably another energy weapon, no telling how many settings it had.
The bad guy wasn’t talking, but John sized him up. This enemy wore a black uniform that was nearly invisible in the darkness, save for a belt and his bad-assed gun. Everything about this guy screamed military, the posturing, the attitude, except there was nothing spectacular about him. He was normal height and weight, with shorn light brown hair. Ordinary, but ordinary didn‘t take out a whole platoon of skilled Marines and a dozen geniuses.
“Lower your weapon,” John ordered. He had a bead on the middle of the man’s chest, a kill shot right through the heart, but pumping a couple rounds wouldn’t matter if under that black fabric were Kevlar plates or invisible energy shields.
“Lower yours,” the bad guy spoke.
Sweat beaded under John’s hairline; endorphins flooded his nervous system and coiled his muscles. “I bet we’re both good shots.”
“At my angle and distance, mine will burn a hole through your face and blow out the back of your skull. Without motor skills, you have no shot.”
“Want to test those odds?” John bluffed, adding pressure to the trigger, prepared to dive the other way.
“That particular test is unnecessary.”
John’s face remained stock still, narrowing his eyes when a man responsible for nearly twenty deaths, bent at the knees and placed his weapon on the step in front of him for no reason.
“Kick the rifle onto the first floor.” The bad guy followed John’s command, the weapon clattering to the ground below. Firing thirty rounds in five seconds would end this, but killing in cold blood wasn’t his thing, so John backed away four paces, placing distance between them. “Put your hands behind your head.”
The other soldier complied, causing John’s heart to saw through his breastbone. This is way too easy, John. “Now, very slowly, stand next to the railing. You twitch, and it’ll be the last thing you do.”
“You put much weight in your abilities. Do you possess high combat ratings?”
A soldier’s calm demonstrated experience or confidence in his abilities; this one exuded both. He waited for John’s answer, his breathing even, tilting his head curiously. “Where are you in the chain of command?”
“I have the gun. I ask the questions. Starting with your name.”
“My name?”
“Yes, your name.” John’s patience was razor thin. “Rank? Designation?” Gritting his teeth, he growled, “What. Do. You. Go. By?”
“Gene.”
Gene didn’t seem to fit with the image of cold-blooded killer. Then again, neither did the guy’s nondescript appearance.
“Is that weapon the only source of your skills?” Gene inquired.
John gripped the P-90 tighter, the gun an instrument of his command. “Place both hands behind you head, entwining your fingers.”
“Take him out, sir!” Parker pleaded. “He gutted Corporal Dominguez, left pieces of him all over the compound for me to follow. He slit Doctor Kowalski’s throat. Shot Doctor Boskins in the kneecaps. I tried protecting her the best I could, but he penetrated my defenses, took us out one by one.”
Dark stains reflected off John’s light; dried blood crusted all over ten fingers in the air in supplication. The slaughter in the halls flashed inside John’s head along with those stacks of body bags. He didn’t pull the trigger when his pulse thrummed, and he went to that dark corner of his mind that severed the connections to emotion. Cold sweat trickled down his back and his voice rumbled low and deep. “I said put your hands behind your head. I won’t order you again.”
Gene acquiesced, lacing his fingers as told. “Now what?”
Power was a funny thing; John had the gun, but he didn’t feel in control right now. Pegasus has been a cruel teacher: never underestimate the enemy. He didn’t have any wrist-ties, or Ronon’s stunner, and Parker’s safety was his main concern.
“Time for a nap,” John replied, and slammed the butt of his rifle against the soldier’s forehead.
Metal smacked flesh and bone; Gene’s neck snapped upon impact, but he didn’t sway, or even fall. John had plenty whacks to the skull before, and one thing was for sure. It was always light’s out. A trail of red welled up from the cut, dripping down the soldier’s nose, onto the floor. “Your demonstration of force was disappointing.”
Gene’s hands remained behind his head, but John’s instincts were screaming. He aimed an inch below the prisoner’s right knee and squeezed the trigger.
There wasn’t a shout of pain, or vomiting from shock of a trauma at such close range. Gene studied the fresh wound, brow furrowed. “To incapacitate a target impedes its ability to remain mobile,” he spoke, as if reciting from a manual.
John mind’s flagged red, and he reacted, firing point blank. Gene’s reflexes were faster. The P-90 was ripped out of John’s grip and he was backhanded with a glove of concrete. There wasn’t time to wonder if the strike broke his jaw, because he literally saw stars, his brain too stunned to do anything but throw an arm up for the next blow that knocked him off his feet.
“Sir! Colonel!…Hang on….Fucking bastard!”
“Parker,” John said dazedly, using the railing to get back up.
“Target Nineteen is no longer necessary to this exercise.”
Panic overrode pain and John let out a guttural scream. Bullets tore into the marine’s body as Parker was mowed down by John’s own gun.
Gene gave the automatic rifle a cursory glance before dropping it over the railing. “Projectile weapons are prone to malfunctions. What do you do when it runs out of ammunition?” he asked, oblivious to his act of murder.
Shock. Anger. Sorrow. The competition for dominance over John’s psyche left his mind numb, his body coursing with untapped energy, and he pulled out his .45 without forethought. Gene grabbed John’s wrist, bent it and the gun upwards, discharging five rounds in the process.
The muzzle flash scorched one side of John’s face, the roar of the gun an explosion of artillery inside his head. His skin sizzled; his eardrums rattled. The world faded in and out; all the while the .45 was easily torn from his fingers, Gene’s lips moving in slow motion in front of him.
“…rank…what was…mission…how many…”
John used Gene’s voice as a radar beacon, shoved his shoulder into bone and flesh, and took off down the stairs, thinking, find the P-90. Find the P-90.
The floor came out of nowhere and he rolled to meet it, doing nothing for his sense of orientation. Memory used to calculating lines of coordinates sought out the precise spot where his weapon fell. John bobbed between equipment, Gene nipping at his heels.
Spotting his gun, John lurched forward, heedless of the broken-stereo sounds all around. He grabbed the P-90, and brought it up to bear, while flipping onto his back.
Gene was right fucking there, and John fired, his target dodging the hail of bullets with inhuman speed. God, this guy was freakishly fast, nothing but a blurry outline dashing around consoles.
Who or what was he? Gene bled, crossing a Replicator off the list. John jostled to his feet, wheeling around the room searching for his target. One side of his face was on fire, his left eye squished closed, his hearing drowning under invisible water.
The seesaw of sound screwed up his balance and it took every ounce of concentration to follow the acrobatic feats of his opponent. John fired short volleys in anticipation of Gene‘s next move, aiming ahead of his forward motion. The P-90 clicked empty, and John realized Gene’s ultimate plan. Clever boy, forcing him to waste ammo, knowing he could out-dodge whatever John threw at him.
“This is … of the … ineffectiveness of the…your… weaponry.” Gene‘s words landed on half-deaf ears. “This however…” He bent over out of sight, and John rammed in another clip and repositioned.
Gene popped up like a jack-in-the-box, and John unleashed hell. Bullets struck the wall where Gene stood a second ago, the magazine jamming seconds later. Fuck. John darted toward the exit, thankful that he had the layout memorized, his one good eye scanning for movement.
Blue energy bursts impacted the door, nearly catching him in the crossfire. A quick canvass revealed Gene perched on top of the platform. What did he do, fly up there? There was no time to think, because volleys chased him into the opposite direction, mini fireworks licking his skin. Cover was nonexistent, panels exploded, equipment was set on fire. John ducked, rolled and spun, but no matter where he ran, blue surges found him. His uniform was singed somewhere, burning fabric a sharp noxious smell.
It was like shooting ducks in a barrel. Then why was he still breathing?
Gene was screwing with him, a cat teasing its prey and John wasn’t going to play anymore. “Enough of this!” he snarled.
“My weapon does not have a re-load time; there is no interruption in fire,” Gene lectured.
John’s legs shook from adrenaline overload, his face throbbed, and his hearing only partially worked. “Sounds like you have the advantage in superior firepower.”
“Firepower is one way to take out a target. It is responsible for eighty percent of all successful missions.”
The platform was the perfect sniper’s nest, covering all angles of the room. Only tiny movements would go unnoticed. Surviving this required a distraction, and there was no McKay to perform a miracle with chewing gum and a piece of tinfoil.
Playing injured, John leaned on the console, visibly resting his P-90 with his right hand, left hand slipping inside his tac vest. Always draw the focus away from your true objective. “What about Lieutenant Parker and his team? How long did he evade you and your superior firepower?”
“Tracking the units took time; they split up, and I took out the most vulnerable first.”
Keeping cool while discussing the murder of his people was a mental exercise in willpower. All he had was C-4 and two detonators, which wouldn’t do him a lick of good with Jason Bourne up there. “Why take out the weakest first? Why not the strongest?” he asked. His fingers dipped into the lower right vest pocket and he pulled out some explosive and pinched a piece off the block and applied it under the broken console.
“The strongest were the goal of the exercise; I merely followed my objective.”
The detonator was next. John stuck the wire charge in, priming it for the remote and slowly pushed off the console. “What’s your objective?”
“I will not reveal that to the enemy.”
“And how do you determine the enemy? I know my people didn’t initiate any attack on you,” John growled. He tethered the useless P-90 to his vest and headed to the other end of the room in a non-threatening manner, closer to the other exit point.
“Any unauthorized entry onto this base is an act of aggression to be neutralized.”
John used the bulk of the control panel in front of him to conceal his movements and pulled out the tiny remote, resting it on top of the console with his right hand. Rodney’s voice was in the back of his head, yapping about the odds for failure about his next move. He slipped his left hand into his vest and pinched off more C-4. His fingers felt around for another detonator, and found the plastic nodal, and sawed at the plastic wire with his thumbnail.
“We thought this place was abandoned. There were no life signs. Why didn’t you try to communicate with us?”
“My primary purpose is the defense of this base.”
“We would have left peaceably and avoided bloodshed.” John cut through the nodal with his thumbnail and squeezed the chemicals into a tiny paddy of C-4. He had seconds maybe. The chemicals Lead Stephanie and Aside were unstable primers in detonators, normally protected by their plastic-wire covers. A static discharge or even a fall from a few inches was enough to trigger a reaction. “Or is racking up high causality rates one of your objectives?”
“A hundred percent kill rate is the ultimate fulfillment of my duty. Why would I leave survivors?” was Gene’s reply.
Fire burned in John’s craw and he rested his right thumb on the side of the remote. “I‘ll be sure to pay you the same courtesy,” he deadpanned, activating it.
The nearby console exploded into flames, successfully diverting Gene‘s attention. John ducked to avoid flying shrapnel, grabbed the tiny ball of C-4 out of his pocket and tossed it left-handed at the platform. Normally C-4 wouldn’t do anything upon impact; however, this little bomb was unstable from volatile chemicals.
It slammed into the railing in a fireball. John was halfway toward the exit, the concussive force throwing him out the door. Surely Gene was mincemeat, but that would require a bit of good luck, and John didn’t think he had any on this mission. He never stopped running, going for distance, barreling down long stretches of makeshift hallways as if pursued by rabid Wraith.
Something told him Gene might be worse.
Staggering into the next wall instead of rounding a corner was his body’s signal to stop. The left side of his face pulsated madly, the desire to touch and check out the damage infuriating. It was as if nails dipped in acid had raked gouges across his cheek and neck.
His left eye was useless, his ears plugged with glue. Gene could be standing behind him and he’d never know it. Pulling out the life sign’s detector, his heart stuttered in his chest.
How the hell was this guy still alive?
A red dot blinked in defiance, though it wasn’t going after him. Maybe Gene was injured or the metal platform had collapsed on top of him and he was dying, bleeding out. John wouldn’t take the chance, and set off at a sprint toward his team. It finally occurred to him to try the radio again, and he waited a few minutes, putting more distance between him and the bad guy.
“McKay? You copy?’
“Ss-epprd?”
“Yeah.”
“Where the hell have you been? Are you all right? One of the dots disappeared and we…”
McKay was probably yelling in a high-pitched, frenzied voice, but the words were mud. “I really can’t hear you.”
“We’re in … of …here”
“What?”
“I said, we’re in a lot of trouble here. And why can’t you hear me?”
“I’m a little deaf. Why are you guys in trouble? What‘s wrong?”
“We’re going to die of radiation poisoning.”
John kept a brisk pace, trying to avoid things like inanimate objects. “Just get inside…”
“The jumper is currently lying at the bottom of the landing bay after someone released the docking mechanism.”
“There has to be a--”
“Way to save us? Yes, there is. You need to… reactivate… in the… But the only way to do it is to reach the control room which is twenty miles away at the beginning of the complex.”
Twenty miles? In prime shape, he could run that in a little over two hours. “How long?”
“We have…five hours left before…”
John poured on the speed, cranking his legs, his calves and thighs burning. He glanced down at the LSD and did a double take, rubbing his good eye. The damn dot was on the move.
“Crap. I’ve got some trouble of my own.”
“Wait! Sheppard, you don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
McKay gave him the abridged version on Gene. Catching every fourth or fifth word didn’t make what John learned any less scary. Something about weapons programs and genetically enhanced soldiers. “He’s human after all.”
“Super human. He also has the ability to heal rapidly.”
“I’m facing Wolverine?” John asked, incredulous. This was his worst nightmare and it was pursuing him. “Damn it.”
“Yeah, we… him moving, too.”
McKay’s voice faded in and out, and John shoved the radio further into his ear. “What? Never mind. You learn anything on how to kill this guy?”
“I’m still looking.”
“Keep searching. Switching to radio silence.”
Pocketing the com, he did a quick inventory; his only weapons were a K-bar knife and jammed P-90. John double-timed it, knowing if Gene caught up, he wouldn’t fall for his tricks again.
-----
Rodney had adapted a method of speed reading for school that worked for date/quote happy professors which eventually developed into a useful filter for garbage information. This undoubtedly helped in life, especially when dealing with alien egomaniacs. Was it necessary to postulate every conclusion with a streak of narcissistic ambitions that’d make Earth’s battiest dictators grin in envy?
“This program had to have been run under the Ancient’s noses.”
“Building an indestructible soldier might have changed the war,” Teyla said, walking over. “They built other major weapons. Created machines to increase their evolution. Why not build an army able to defeat the Wraith?”
“All their evolutionary research was for the purpose of Ascension; this...” he waved at the screen, “was for galactic domination. I’m sure the program started off as a plan to defeat the Wraith, but whoever was in charge had grander schemes.”
Rock clanking on ten inches of steel alloy reverberated inside Rodney‘s skull. Ronon grunted and growled and cursed, battering the unforgiving barrier with pointless bouts of violence.
“Will you stop that? Nothing you do is going to break it open. It was designed to withstand more force than that!”
Ronon whipped his head around, dreads obscuring face. “Some mutant soldier killed our teams and now it’s hunting Sheppard. You got a better idea?”
“No. And if that door was held in place by hinges, or any type of physical mechanism, then I’d be showing you the best technique to pry it apart. But this is a power-operated barrier that only a lot of C-4 could possibly blow up.”
As soon as the words left Rodney’s lips, Ronon shook his head. “Don’t have any.”
Teyla checked on a semi-conscious Zelenka. They’d dressed him back into his suit despite Rodney’s suggestion that they trade turns wearing it. “Maybe something on Radek’s computer might help? Another way inside or information on how to get around whatever is blocking your connection,” she suggested.
“Already ahead of you. I just established a link to the system using his laptop. Before you ask, I don’t why it let me in; maybe it’s because he had connected earlier and it recognized the ISP.”
“That is great progress.”
Rodney shook his head, dashing all of Teyla’s hope. “There’s like a hundred-bit encryption code on all vital systems except the ability to monitor life support, which will come in handy for counting down the minutes to our slow agonizing death.”
“Then find another way inside!”
“Fine! How about I give you a spoon and you start digging a tunnel. It’d take you what…ten thousand years!” Rodney snarled back at Ronon, frustration and fear fraying and ripping apart his nerves.
Teyla pierced them each with a commanding stare. “This will not help us get to safety and it will not help John.”
Rodney and Ronon mumbled apologies at the same time. Ronon closed both eyes and exhaled deeply. After a few cleansing breaths he popped his neck and tossed the large piece of moon rock to the ground. “You able to follow Sheppard’s movements with that?”
“Yeah,” Rodney replied, already bringing up the display. “He’s still staying ahead.”
“You sound surprised.”
Rodney peered up at Teyla. “I’ve just gleaned a fraction of these figures, but this is really, really bad. They called it the Genetically Enhanced Experiment for crying out loud, but despite the idiotic name, the results were damn impressive. The people in charge of the program successfully manipulated genes, not only to manufacture super-human abilities, but they also isolated protein molecules to help regenerate tissue and even bone at an abnormally high rate.”
“Healing abilities,” Teyla said grimly.
“Yes, Sheppard can joke all he wants about Wolverine, but why would a guy who can not only kill in a thousand different ways, but take a hell of a lot of damage, just wait around?”
“He’s observing,” Ronon said.
“Yes. According to this research, he was groomed to study, learn, and adapt to any tactic. Think about it. He’s been around for how many thousands of years?” Rodney didn’t know the hows or whys to all their lingering questions, including where the hell this guy had been hiding this whole time. At least not yet. “It’d make sense if he was testing Sheppard. Analyzing new methods before…well before--”
“Going after the kill,” Ronon said flatly. “Maybe he’s the one behind the transporter malfunction.”
“But why? How come John and not when Ronon was with him?”
Ronon shrugged at Teyla. “Don’t know.”
They both turned expectantly, waiting for Rodney to pull an answer out of his ass, but he was too busy freaking out. “Come on! It’s not enough that you’re genetically altered!” Before his teammates could pester him, Rodney turned the laptop over for them to see. “I thought these were just more anomalies popping up, but the temperature inside the complex has steadily dropped by nine degrees.”
“He wants to see how Sheppard will cope under extreme conditions,” Ronon deduced.
“Yeah, well, that’s not all. The oxygen saturation levels have slowly declined the last twenty minutes, not enough to be life threatening, but between extreme temperatures and low O2, Sheppard’s gong to wear down quickly.”
Rodney didn’t mention their increased exposure to constant amounts of roentgens. Secretly he hoped for a John Sheppard Hail Mary save, or one of his ridiculously whacked out ideas, but maybe this time, the odds were stacked too high.
That this time they were all going to die, just one of them was going to fall before the others.
---
“Part Two”