Unfinished WIP: excerpt: SGA: Upward Over the Mountain [c]
Upward Over the Mountain
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Evan came through the stargate with two jumpers, more marines, combat medics, Keller and a portable surgical suite. Keller immediately triaged Rodney, Teyla, and three of the Genii back to Atlantis. Ronon was relocated to one of the other jumpers, left to sleep off the stun on one of the benches. The dead were zipped in four heavy black body bags. John held onto his gun and kept watch as Keller prepared Tyre for surgery. The cinnamon and ozone scent John remembered from the only time they'd visited this world before drifted into jumper, while fine as powder dust settled everywhere, much to Keller's dismay. She complained through all of the preparations at the unsanitary conditions in Jumper One and only shut up when John asked if she'd rather operate with the Wraith coming through the stargate.
Lacos propped himself against the cabin bulkhead and watched Tyre along with John.
One of the marine medics, José Miranda, squeezed inside with them and cleaned the cuts on John's face. The sting and reek of the disinfectant made John grit his teeth, but he never looked away from Tyre. "Get some stitches later, sir," Miranda told him and John nodded.
Two more marines secured Tyre to the operating table before taking up guard positions at the hatch.
Evan had brought two more items, courtesy of the science department and the brig: a shielded container to keep the tracker in and a set of restraints, the ones they'd made to Wraith specs. Even an enzyme-hyped human wouldn't bust those. Tyre went into them after Keller closed.
Lacos wanted to take Tyre straight to Genea for questioning.
Two of the marines carried Tyre to the stargate and turned him over to Lacos' remaining men. Lacos made his way to the DHD and braced one hand against it. John followed and Evan joined him. The temperature had begun to drop as night fell on the high desert. The marines had set up portable halogen lamps that cast razor-sharp shadows across the stony ground. A portable generator droned a steady note in the background, the scent of its combustion exhaust eerily reminiscent of Earth. The harsh light bled away color and obscured a night sky John remembered as glitter and indigo. Evan nodded to the body bags laid out in a row next to the DHD.
"Your men have IDCs?" John asked. All gate team members carried them, but the marines usually only had one or two per squad, carried by the squad leader and their commo guy. Atlantis kept requisitioning more IDCs and the SGC kept sending the minimum requirement. John meant to have engineering begin making their own. It would be easier.
"Yes."
John looked at Lacos. "Some of our men can carry your dead through and dial home from Genea."
Lacos nodded wearily. "Thank you."
"Major," John ordered.
Evan activated his radio and called for a detail.
"We'll have news on your wounded," John promised. "Soon." Atlantis' trauma teams were as experienced as the gate teams.
Ronon staggered out of Jumper Two and looked around blearily. He made his way to the DHD, taking in the busy marines, the jumpers, pausing silently at John's cut up face and the body bags. He spotted Tyre, bound and waiting with his Genii guards, and glared.
Lacos dialed the stargate. They waited through the gush of it opening until it settled into placidity, the fluttering blue light less comforting than usual, sending shadows scurrying, its reflections twisting everyone's features into warped expressions.
Lacos motioned his men to take Tyre through. The body bags squeaked, rubber on rubber, as the marines detailed to go with them lifted each. Lacos looked back before walking through the event horizon.
"What'd I miss?" Ronon asked.
The wormhole collapsed. The hum of power from the stargate, that John had not even noted, faded into the sounds of the marines, of the generator and the sizzle of heat from the halogen bulbs, all overlaying the more distant night sounds of the planet, the soft rustles and night cries of the hunters and the hunted.
John gave a shrug that left him reminded him he hadn't pulled so many Gs in years as his muscles protested. He felt sore all over, deep down, and tired to the bone. Just the prospect of returning to Atlantis and debriefing added to his weariness. Ronon could hear the story when John told Woolsey.
"Sir, go back to Atlantis, get yourself stitched up, check on the Doc," Evan told him gently and John realized he'd zoned out, braced against the DHD the way Lacos had.
Keller joined them before John could say yes or no. She peered at his face. "Let's go. Cole and Abiki will be in surgery with the two critical patients; if that third man goes sour, I'll be needed. I want to check Rodney's scans, too."
Evan pushed John's hand slightly to the side and began dialing. "Respectfully, sir, you're ready to fall over."
"Okay," John acceded. He glanced back at Jumper One. The little ship had still been responding to him like a well trained polo pony, even if it had been lamed and hurting. The salvaged Wraith tech remained in the rear cargo area, pushed aside to make room for Keller's surgery. "Get my baby home and the tech in it back down to the labs - have Radek check it. We don't need any more surprises."
"No sir, we don't," Evan agreed.
The wormhole opened and Evan sent through his own IDC. Ronon wrapped a hand around John's elbow and pulled when John didn't get himself moving fast enough. He started walking because otherwise Ronon would probably pick him up and carry him. He'd been dawdling, delaying, he realized. He didn't want to go back Atlantis and find out Rodney had been alive, but wasn't now, or wasn't...wouldn't ever be himself again.
Woolsey was waiting on the gateroom floor as they came through. He started forward, but Keller waved him off. "Not now. I want both of them in the infirmary and scanned. Anything else can wait." John didn't know if he loved or hated Keller just then, but Woolsey folded, and he went along to the infirmary, finally letting Jens Laughingwater, the day shift trauma specialist, work on his face after examining him.
Teyla slipped past the privacy curtain while Laughingwater was sewing up the second worst cut, her arm in a cast and sling, looking freshly showered though and free of her mission gear. John relaxed minutely. If Rodney had been in serious shape, Teyla would have stayed by his side.
"You're lucky I studied plastic surgery as a specialty before going into emergency medicine," Laughingwater said. The needle and thread tugged strangely at John's skin, despite the anesthetic Laughingwater had administered. "You aren't even going to have any scars. The cuts are all nice and straight and clean."
John made a muffled sound, half agreement, half gratitude. He knew he had a good face and didn't really want it messed up, really didn't want the way some people would look at him if it were.
"Not like Dr. McKay," Laughingwater went on. John jerked and turned his head. Laughingwater grabbed his jaw. "Hold still or I'll leave you with a big red zigzag."
Teyla set her good hand on John's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Rodney will be well," she assured him.
"Of course, he will," Laughingwater said. "He's got a mild concussion, some temporary hearing loss on one side, a face full of cuts just like these, and he's going to have scar over his forehead where the bullet tore open the skin on its way across."
John squeezed his eyes closed. There had been so much blood, like a red shroud over Rodney's features. Head wounds bled a lot, he knew that, no matter whether they were serious or not. But Tyre had had the gun to Rodney's head...John's stomach churned, bile rising up his throat to lie on the back of tongue, the bitter taste of fear and failure. Rodney was alive, he repeated to himself; Rodney would be all right.
He let his eyes stayed closed as Laughingwater went on working, the intense light of the spot being used to light the work shining warm and orange through his lids.
"Lucky, lucky man," Laughingwater declared. "Both of you. The scar won't be bad, I'm a damn fine hand at this sort of thing. Interesting conversational piece eventually. Must have scared the hell out of him at the time, though."
"Thank you," Teyla said when John said nothing.
He felt another distant tug and a bit of pull along his cheek.
"There, you're all done, Colonel."
John opened his eyes. Laughingwater was stripping off his gloves, already on his way out of the cubicle.
"Rodney is in one of the private rooms where it is quieter," Teyla said. "I left Ronon with him."
Laughingwater stopped him long enough to hand over a blister pack of muscle relaxants, then John followed her to the back of the infirmary.
He stopped in the doorway and leaned there once he caught sight of Rodney. His friend was dressed in pale yellow scrubs. All the blood had been washed away, but many of the cuts on his face were still unbandaged, lines of red under the glisten of antibiotic ointments. A wide white bandage wrapped around Rodney's head like a headband. He had an IV in one arm, nothing else. John watched Rodney's chest rise and fall until his own breathing matched the same rhythm, feeling lightheaded, the last hollow ringing settling into the silence in his head. Rodney looked paler than usual and he needed a shave, his beard coming in like a gunmetal shadow where his jawline softened into his neck. John wished he could touch, to just feel skin and the steady jump of Rodney's pulse there. Rodney's lashes looked longer and thicker than a man had a right to with his eyes closed, the color hidden under thin, blue-veined lids. He seemed incredibly fragile, more than he had even in the jumper.
John's legs decided they'd had enough and he just slid down the wall until his ass reached the chilly floor. He sat, knees bent, hands empty, dazed by the gratitude he felt, just watching Rodney breathe, with Ronon sprawled in a uncomfortable chair next to his bed and Teyla standing in the doorway next to him. Today he might have lost any one of them, all of them, and they were everything. They were everything to him.
Teyla sank down to the floor with him and took John hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. Her hands were tiny. Calluses from the bantos sticks made her palms tough. She squeezed his hand.
"I would never have forgiven myself if Rodney had died." Because I am a warrior and meant to protect him John heard, unspoken, echoing his own feelings.
"Wouldn't have been your fault," Ronon said. "I should have - "
John tightened his hand on Teyla's and found his voice. "Mine. It would have been mine. Christ, if the acceleration hadn't forced Rodney's head back just that much, Tyre would have blown his brains out instead of just grazing his forehead."
"It wasn't anyone's fault, so you should all shut up," Rodney croaked. He didn't open his eyes and his mouth pinched into a thin, pained line. "I'm not dead, though, oh, God, my head hurts enough I almost wish I were. Especially if it meant I never had to listen to you three start your latest 'I'm the Guiltiest' deathmatch."
Teyla laughed and even Ronon chuckled, while Rodney began a whispered diatribe that included all their respective parents, their parents' parents, Dr. Abiki's Caribbean diploma mill medical degree, and plans to create new and especially vile methods of torture to be tested out on all of them before he used them on Tyre. John let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes. He still had a report to write after debriefing with Woolsey and he thought he'd have to ask Ronon to help him back to his feet if he stayed on the floor much longer, but he didn't mind at all.
He managed to fit a shower in before spending three hours debriefing with Woolsey, Evan sitting two seats down the table, facing the camera that was the latest IOA innovation. Transcripts weren't enough any longer, they wanted to have video, so that they could sic their analysts on every blink and twitch and yawn. In consequence, debriefings had become stiff, blank-faced recitations, all the nuances they once discussed but left out of the reports unspoken entirely.
The dial-in from Genea offered a welcome escape, as Woolsey ended the debriefing and waved John to join him in night-time dim control room. Ladon was on the other end of the live, two-way video feed, neatly-bearded face up on the main screen. Ladon had reverted back into full Marshal Paramount uniform and John felt relieved he had changed after his shower, even if his face was covered in plasters. Woolsey, at least, looked as immaculately dressed and poised as ever, aiming a diplomatically pinch-mouthed smile at the screen as though a late night call from the Genii was just what he needed to complete his day. John settled for a head nod.
Ladon wanted news of the three Genii wounded.
Keller, surgical cap still covering her hair and looking as tired as John had seen her, came up to control from medical. She reported, addressing a spot somewhere between Woolsey and the image of Ladon on the big screen. All three men were stable.
"Abiki had to remove one man's spleen, but we're fairly sure he'll recover. The other man we're monitoring to make sure his lung doesn't collapse again," she explained. "Number three is going to have a spectacular scar, but he's stitched up and you can have him back tomorrow if you want."
Ladon nodded. His gaze shifted, maybe looking from Keller to John. "And Dr. McKay? Teyla Emmagan?"
"They're both going to be okay," John said. Lacos must have reported they were wounded, too.
"That's a relief," Ladon replied. He seemed sincere. His expression hardened. "We have begun questioning the Wraith worshipper."
"This Tyre person," Woolsey corrected him.
"Who he was does not matter."
John agreed but kept silent.
"Has he said anything useful?" Woolsey asked.
"He is resisting," Ladon answered. "Breaking him will take time."
"Breaking," Woolsey repeated. "What exactly are you doing to him?"
Ladon caught on to Woolsey's disapproval. "What is necessary. Unless you have anything that could soften his will better than our methods?" His voice turned hard. "Or you, Dr. Keller? Perhaps you know of a drug to make a prisoner talk?"
Woolsey stiffened beside John. Before he could say anything however, Keller whipped off her surgical cap and snapped, "I'm a doctor, not an interrogator. No one in my department will help torture anyone." She glared at Woolsey and then John, who hadn't said anything, then stalked away.
"I'm afraid we can't help you," Woolsey told Ladon. He smiled tightly. "We'll dial in tomorrow to send your man home and update you."
"Yes, of course," Ladon replied. "Mr. Woolsey. Colonel Sheppard. Until then."
"Good night, Chancellor," Woolsey said.
"Talk to you tomorrow," John added.
Woolsey gestured to the comm tech and the connection cut, then the wormhole collapsed, followed by opalescent sheen of the shield. John looked at the empty ring for a moment. The window beyond was darkened, filled with shadowed reflections, though the stained glass lost the last time the gate room was half destroyed had been replaced. He'd lost track of the time and would have had to check his watch to know exactly, but they were somewhere halfway through Atlantis' night. A rough calculation told him it was morning on Genea. It would be an unending day for Tyre.
"What about those Goa'uld memory device things?" John asked.
"No," Woolsey said.
He considered arguing, but figured it for useless. He wasn't sure he wanted Woolsey to tell him yes, they had something better and would let the Genii use it, anyway. The thing was, though, he'd seen it before, seen it over and over and he wanted to tell him they were long past the line, had been for years before the US Air Force or the SGC sent them through the stargate; that complicity while someone else did the dirty work didn't leave your hands any cleaner. Ronon walking into a room with Kavanagh and a knife at least owned his own sins, didn't pretend to clean hands afterward. They were going to accept whatever the Genii learned from Tyre and use it.
"Report in my email by noon tomorrow," Woolsey ordered. He sighed. "We should all get some sleep."
"Good idea," John agreed.
"Remind Specialist Dex and Miss Emmagan, please."
"Sure. McKay?"
"Dr. McKay may take an extra day since he has been wounded. A concussion, I understand; though I observed a disturbing amount of blood when he was brought through the stargate.And, of course, Ms. Emmagan will be off the mission roster until her arm heals. I've supplied her with a voice recorder so that she can dictate her report."
"I'm sure she'll appreciate it."
"Well then. I'll bid you good night, Colonel."
John lingered after Woolsey left, soaking in the quiet sounds of the night shift, the rhythms of the city between emergencies, before taking a transporter to the residential quarters. He got his boots off and stripped down to boxers and a tee shirt before collapsing into sleep. He woke once from a dream of wind whistling through broken glass, frost coating his fingers, reaching for something. He couldn't see it or remember what it had been while lying on his back, blinking blearily at the coppery ceiling, waiting for his stiff muscles to unseize enough he could stumble into the washroom and find the muscles relaxants Laughingwater had pressed on him. Something important, he thought, before falling back into sleep, this time dreamless as death.
Keller released Rodney in the morning. Despite his complaints of possible aneurysms, brain damage and disfigurement, Rodney popped several Tylenol and went to the labs instead of his quarters. No one, including Keller, felt any surprise. Radek had begun preliminary analysis of the Wraith equipment after evaluating it for any immediate danger. Rodney couldn't stay away from that without physical restraints.
Thirteen hours later, Rodney barged into John's office, unshaven, shoulders rounded in exhaustion, his eyes bloodshot red and ringed with bags. The wide bandage over his forehead had gone a sort of grimy gray, adorned with smears, a coffee stain and a gooey patch of something that looked like it belonged in an outtake of The Blob.
"Hey," John said and quickly waved Evan out of the only other chair.
Rodney dropped into with a grunt that signaled gratitude. He completely missed Evan's amused expression, which disappeared as soon as he noticed John had seen. John suppressed a smile of his own.
"So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?" John asked. "Need some marines? Maybe a pilot? Someone with a real gene? Or did you just miss me?"
"Ha. Ha. Ahhhhhh." Rodney slumped down until he could rest his head against the seat back with that pathetic little groan. He even closed his eyes. "Miss you? Are you sure you aren't the one with a concussion?"
Evan made walking motions with his fingers and John nodded to him. They could discuss the growing discipline problem with LaRue the next day. John had already decided the best choice would be to send LaRue back to Earth the next time one of the SGC ships made a supply run. He really didn't want to end up with LaRue in the brig. It just made more work for the rest of their people. The Daedalus was due in the next two weeks; let Earth deal with this problem child. Evan slipped out quietly.
John waited for the door to close before opening his desk drawer and bringing out his giant bottle of Excedrin. "Headache still bad?" he asked sympathetically. He'd had enough concussions to know it was. The little pained frown that squinched Rodney's brows together even with his eyes closed gave it away.
"Hideous."
Without opening his eyes, Rodney held out his open hand and John dropped two pills into his palm. He winced as Rodney dry swallowed them.
"Life saver," Rodney croaked afterward. His Adam's apple worked. "Jesus, John. We ended up working with biology, figuring out what that crap was."
John perched on his desk corner.
Rodney gestured blindly. "I mean, first we went with chemistry, but those damn Wraith bio-organics had them more confused than an elephant in a tutu, so we had to get Neumann and Gritty, Grisky..." Rodney frowned then snapped his fingers. "Gretsky - "
"You only remember that because of the hockey player," John pointed out.
"Yes, so? As I was saying, biologists of all things, and they wouldn't have figured it out without the brilliance of yours truly, along with Radek, too busy oohing and ahing over the horrible goo..."
John let Rodney's words wash over him, soothing and familiar, by turns irritated and excited and punctuated with hand waves and finger snaps, emotions flipping fast as the fanned pages of book, all of it comforting the raw place inside thinking Tyre had killed Rodney had left.
"...invisible tattoos."
"What?"
Rodney had his eyes open now, studying John shrewdly. "I'd begun to think you weren't listening to me."
John shifted uncomfortably. "I was listening." Maybe not hearing, but he'd definitely been listening.
"Hmph."
"Invisible tattoos?" John prompted. "Also, why are you here, telling me? Wouldn't, I don't know, Keller, be more interested?"
"Because I don't need to shower and change and write up a report to talk to you. I can forward the data to Keller and tell Woolley-Bully at morning staff. It's not like its anything, oh, say, useful, anyway."
John wrinkled his nose, though he couldn't actually smell much from Rodney except a whiff of coffee. Teasing might perk Rodney up, though. "You should reconsider the shower option."
"This from Colonel Spars With Sweaty Apes." Rodney drew in a deep breath. "We think we've figured out what Tyre was doing from the salvaged tech."
"Yeah?"
"He was tagging people with a biological marker. Nothing they could see, but either the Wraith can or they have some kind of sensor to read it. That's not relevant, the Wraith seeing part, I mean."
"Why?" John asked. "And can we trace the marker?"
"No idea," Rodney answered. "And no. It's not a signal and from what we can tell, it will degrade in about six months. Shed with the skin cells. From what Neumann and Radek came up with, Tyre would just have to coat his hand with this stuff, it wouldn't show up to anyone, and then just touch them. Shake hands, whatever. It soaked right through clothing when we tested, so it could seem like a pretty innocent contact. It does smell a lot like vinegar, but I don't think it would be noticeable outside a closed room."
"So, we're still left hoping the Genii get something from Tyre."
Rodney sighed. "Yes. Don't think I like it any more than you do."
John reached over and patted Rodney's arm, not thinking about it for once. "No one expected we'd get the answer from that stuff, you know."
"I'd hoped."
They always hoped they were going to find the one thing they needed to stop the Wraith. It hadn't happened yet.
"I know."
John pulled his hand back as he realized Rodney was looking at it. He looked down at his boots, wishing he could just be natural with Rodney at least. There were so many things they understood without needing to explain to each other, he hoped Rodney knew some of what he might never be able to say.
Morning staff again, this time with Woolsey prodding Keller into admitting the Genii were ready to go back home and Evan lobbying to delay a mission scheduled for the next week instead of assigning it to different team, something about Parrish and some plant, fara, fana, he wasn't clear about it. Either it was an appetite suppressant or a stimulant. Rodney presented what Radek and Neumann's team had on the salved Wraith tech. Which wasn't much. They were left hoping the Genii succeeded in extracting something from Tyre.
The bandage over Rodney's forehead had been changed and looked smaller, leaving his hairline visible.
They scheduled a jumper run to Genea to return the wounded. Dr. Cole would accompany them to brief the Genii doctors on their status and what had been done and what care they would need. Woolsey suggested just sending the medical records only to have Radek dryly point out that while everyone who went through the Pegasus stargates received a version of Trade, it didn't even have an alphabet and the Genii wouldn't be able to make any sense of paper reports in English or any Terran language. The closest thing to universal written language in Pegasus was Ancient and only a tiny proportion of the population were literate at all. Having your civilization knocked back to the stone age every hundred years or so had that effect.
"Make sure Dr. Cole understands she's to brief the Genii doctors and return with Colonel Sheppard," Woolsey told Keller.
They managed to cover a project overview for the biology and botany departments, none of it exactly fascinating John. He expected a request that he assign marines to a mission to acquire sufficient soil from PXF-D43 in the coming weeks if he'd understood the part about rare elements and enhanced crop yields.
"I think that's it for today," Woolsey declared, pushing his chair back from the conference table.
Rodney was already on his feet, gathering up his laptop and tablet and the yellow coffee cup lifted from the mess hall contrary to regs. John kicked back and rose too. He scooped the coffee cup out of Rodney's grip. "I'll get this back to the mess. If Sgt. Harris runs inventory on the kitchen and comes up short again, he's going to run a commando raid on the physics labs."
"He'd have to get past the disintegrator rays and robot attack dogs."
"Yeah, but think, if he didn't, who'd cook up Monday Mystery Meatloaf?"
John fell into step beside Rodney, swinging the empty cup by a finger through the handle as they went.
"Yes, well, the only mystery about the meatloaf is that the Ancients didn't discover it and use it as a building material."
John laughed as they reached the transporters. "You mean they didn't?"
Rodney thumped the wall with his elbow. "Who knows what's behind some of these panels?"
"Okay. I've got paperwork. See you at lunch?"
Rodney stepped into the transporter. "Sorry. I'm going to eat in the lab and work through lunch."
"Then I'll see you in the gear room at fifteen-hundred," John replied and stepped back enough to let the transporter doors close. When the opened again, he stepped inside and headed for his office, stopping in Evan's office to leave Rodney's cup on his desk next to several others John had absconded with himself. Evan would get them back to the mess.
Lacos waved the jumper down into a grassy meadow just beyond the stargate, boarded and directed John past the nearest fake village to a barn built into a hillside. Ronon exchanged a nod with Lacos, then stood back while Lacos spoke quietly with his men. He radioed a password when they reached the barn and two 'farmers' cranked open the doors to the hayloft. John flew the jumper in and through a second set of concealed doors that led into the first level of the Genii bunker complex. Ladon was waiting when they landed, along with his body guards.
Rodney whipped out his Ancient PDA as soon as they walked down the jumper's ramp to the concrete floor. "Checking for radiation," he muttered. The bunker was dim enough the PDA's screen reflected light from his features.
"And?"
"Low level, about like living next to the Mt. Diablo power plant or Lawrence Livermore."
John filed that away and greeted Ladon, introducing Cole and explaining she had come along to tell their doctors exactly how their wounded had been treated.
"Strike Leader, please accompany the doctor and your men," Ladon told Lacos.
John caught Cole's gaze and tapped his headset. "Check in every hour."
"Gotcha," she said and followed Lacos and the gurneys with the wounded away.
John closed the jumper up, initiated the shield and pocketed the remote. He smiled at Ladon. "Lead on."
Ladon studied the faint heat shimmer that the shield produced. "Is it the same as the shield over your stargate?" he asked, reminding John that before he'd removed Cowen and ousted Kolya, Ladon had been one of their top scientists.
"Somewhat," Rodney said.
Ronon followed them as Ladon took them deeper into the bunker. An elevator took them three more level below the surface. The lights spaced along the corridor ceiling were five sided, cubes with the sixth side comprising a plug. Each of them had a heavy wire grill protecting it. The yellowish light threw the team's ahead of them, fluid and black. A vibration ran through the concrete under their feet and the walls when John ran his hand along one.
"Turbines," Rodney muttered.
Ladon slowed his pace and nodded. "Yes. This facility is powered by an underground river we've harnessed."
Rodney perked up, interested as always by any sort of engineering involving energy. "I don't suppose you'd let me see the actual plant? Are you using a dam to increase pressure or gravity?"
"Perhaps later," Ladon said. He gestured to a door. "In here."
Here proved to be an office, not unlike the offices at the SGC, though smaller. There were seats for all of them and a young Genii officer who scurried out when Ladon waved at him. He returned with cups and a pot of aromatic tea, pouring for Ladon first, then John, Rodney, and Ronon, before retreating again.
Settled and sipping the blue tea, Ladon asked about Teyla.
"Just a broken arm," John said. He tried the tea. Not bad. A little flowery, but definitely superior to the muddy, bitter stout tea the Athosians liked so well. He wondered if the Genii grew it or traded to get it. "She's off active status until the cast comes off, but it's nothing to worry about."
Ladon's gaze rested on the bandage still around Rodney's forehead and John's cuts. "I see. Lacos' report indicated Dr. McKay was hurt badly." He glanced at Rodney again, who was sniffing his tea warily, and added wryly, "But I can see he is all right."
Rodney sniffed again. "Barely. You'd think someone who was shot in the head would get a little more sympathy, but no."
"You were grazed," John said.
"My head!" Rodney pointed at the bandage. "Shot. I don't have a giant pimple under this, you know."
John ducked his head, grinning. Pimple? Sometimes Rodney made it so easy he didn't have the heart to take advantage.
"Quit whining," Ronon said.
"Have you made any progress with Tyre?" John asked to forestall a shouting match between his team mates. Ronon had been edgy since the mission, upset he'd been stunned and helpless while Tyre almost killed Rodney, guilty over Teyla's arm, furious at Tyre and the Wraith, and probably, somewhere down where he didn't have to admit it to anyone, worried and grieving for Tyre, at least as he'd known him once. It made for a volatile mix, one Rodney's complaints might set off.
Ladon rubbed his hands over his face, then set them flat on his desk. He studied John. "I do not know if your doctors might have helped, the deterioration was sickeningly fast..."
"He's dead?" Ronon asked, his voice gone rough.
Ladon confirmed it. "At first, he seemed almost inhumanly strong, defiant, and then he appeared to go into withdrawal. Our doctors were monitoring him; it shouldn't have been a problem: he was strong and healthy and we've detoxed people before."
"The enzyme," Rodney said. He set his cup down and rubbed his arms. "If he'd been getting it since Sateda fell..."
"Seven years," Ronon said. "It would have been bad, but Tyre was strong. What happened?"
Ladon looked grim. He took a key to a cabinet against the back wall, opened it and revealed a primitive cathode ray tube screen. A second drawer beneath the monitor cabinet was opened with another key. It was filled with cylinders, perhaps two centimeters in diameter, nine in length. He handled only the tops, pulled the second one from the first row and slotted into a circular receptacle below the screen, then flicked a switch.
The screen stayed dark, then flared from a single point into grainy but colored image.
"See for yourself," Ladon said. His lips tightened and he looked at John again.
The screen showed an interrogation room, with Tyre strapped to a table. A blindfold covered his eyes and he'd been stripped naked. The picture quality didn't obscure the details of the room. The table was metal, bolted to the floor, the restraints were built into it. The floor appeared to be plain concrete and had a small square drain in the center. The lights were too bright for the camera and washed out some detail on pale surfaces, while the shadows were brutal black and sharp edged. A second table sat against on wall, with a variety of 'tools' carefully set out for use. Five Genii were in the room with Tyre; besides two guards, there was an officer in uniform, a slight and balding man in a pale gree smock, and a stubby, heavily-muscled man wearng a rubber apron, pants and boots: interrogator, doctor, torturer.
The doctor examined Tyre cursorily then nodded and stepped back.
"Braga, Dr. Ordis, and Gebbis."
Gebbis laid a broad board over Tyre's chest, then hefted a square weight onto the board. Next he took the blindfold off. Tyre squeezed his eyes shut against the glare of the overhead light.
The picture didn't have any sound or Ladon hadn't turned it on, but John could imagine the wheezing gasp Tyre let out, his mouth open. He fought against the restraints, but finally collapsed back, gasping for breath.
"Braga tells him they'll begin where they stopped the day before," Ladon narrated. "There's an audio recording and a transcript. I don't think either are compatible with your technology."
"Play it and I can record it," Rodney said.
"That would work."
On the screen, Tyre turned his head and spat at Braga. Braga glanced down at the wet stain on his uniform but did nothing. Gebbis stepped forward and placed his hand over Tyre's nose and mouth. He held it there, muscles rippling in his shoulders and biceps while Tyre bucked and writhed, until Tyre went still, the weight on his chest crushing down. Watching, John winced, though it was already done. When Gebbis let him breath again, Tyre had to fight for the air he desperately needed, half-smothered and pinned.
Braga turned Tyre's face and spoke to the doctor, who checked Tyre's pulse and nodded. Braga spoke again.
"Braga now says that they will begin. He asks how long Tyre has betrayed humans for the Wraith," Ladon relayed in a flat tone. He watched the screen now. Gebbis had retreated to his table of implements. "Tyre does not answer. He asks if Tyre would like something to take the edge off the withdrawal."
"Nothing really does," Rodney said. He'd turned away and crossed his arms over his chest. Sweat glistened at his temple. "How could he even talk like that?"
John didn't blame him. Given another circumstance, he would have walked out of the office himself. He didn't want to look, but he had to.
Ronon grunted and John looked back at the picture.
"This is where it begins," Ladon said.
John felt his stomach start to crawl up his throat.
Tyre seized: body thrashing, teeth snapping together repeatedly, eyes rolled back in his head. As his body collapsed down, it aged. Lines scored his face, muscle collapsed, skin went loose. His hair didn't go gray, but some of it fell out on the table under his head.
"What - ?" Ronon exclaimed.
The doctor bustled between the camera and Tyre. Braga and Gebbis both tripped back from the table, looking horrified. Then the doctor gestured and Gebbis removed the weight and the board. Tyre gasped and rolled his head to the side to stare at Braga. He spoke, words spilling fast and desperate, terror clear on his face.
"Here he begs to be sent back to the Wraith."
"God, why?" Rodney asked, risking a glance at the screen and looking horrified.
John wished he hadn't had any of the tea.
"The Gift of Life, the thing the Wraith do," he choked out.
Rodney looked at him, concern writ so clearly on his face John had to look away. He stared at the screen instead as Tyre seized again, aging another ten years before their eyes. Whatever the Wraith had done to or for Tyre, it wore off. John swallowed hard. Why hadn't it worn off with him? Or maybe it would. He couldn't think about it now, so he shook his head at Rodney.
Ladon had been watching them and John remembered that he'd been in Atlantis and seen Kolya's live broadcast of him being fed on. He probably had some clue to what had happened afterward and what John was thinking now. He had the grace to say nothing.
The recording showed Tyre screaming, then choking as he aged steadily. He talked between sobs and curses and smaller, more frequent seizures that left him crepe-faced and hairless, joints swollen, hands twisted into arthritic claws and his eyes cataract white.
"He offers to tell everything," Ladon narrated, and added, "I don't know if he thought we could give him back to the Wraith again or wanted revenge."
"Revenge," Ronon stated and from what John had observed of Satedans, he thought that had to be it.
John made himself watch stone-faced as the image of Tyre on the screen finally shuddered and collapsed into drooling decrepitude. "Did he tell you anything useful?" he forced out.
"A Ring destination where he said the Wraith had taken many people he and other worshippers had marked for them," Ladon said.
"Have your tried it?" Rodney asked. "Did you recognize it? Did he say what they wanted from the people they took?"
"One of our people used the symbols Tyre provided. It wasn't a world any Genii knew."
Ronon frowned at Ladon. "So you didn't send anyone through?"
"It might be a lie, it might be pure chance that the destination is a real place," Ladon pointed out. "If Tyre didn't lie, it is still a trap. He also admitted there was no way to use the Ancestor's ring on the other side. The Wraith intend their captives to stay and populate the planet. Tyre's mission was to locate villages with mostly young, fit adults who could 'breed'."
The jumpers had their own DHDs. John wondered if Ladon wasn't angling to get access to the jumpers again, but the story made sense. Without a working stargate and DHD, any people the Wraith put on that world would be marooned.
"Just like a roach motel," Rodney muttered, echoing John's thoughts. "It's kind of surprising they didn't try this before, with the extended lifespans they can long term plan without relying on succeeding generations to finish any work..."
"McKay, shut up," Ronon interrupted him. Tension rolled off him. The muscles in his shoulders shifted and twisted, hinting at the turmoil seeing Tyre die had to have stirred through him, and the anger he always felt toward the Wraith. "We're going to get them?" He glared at John. "Right?"
Rodney looked at John, then Ronon, then John again and his face twisted into unhappy recognition. "Oh, come on. You can't really mean to - Look, we should go back to Atlantis, pick up a couple of brigades of marines, and Teyla, before heading off into the wild blue wormhole. Sheppard, tell me you aren't serious - "
Aside from the fact Atlantis didn't have even one entire brigade of marines, John didn't think Woolsey would authorize another Genii-Lantean jumper mission. Jumper One was still out of commission and Radek had threatened John's life over breakfast after seeing it the first time. Teyla was still out of commission. She'd never want them to delay the mission until her broken arm healed. He figured it was go now or not at all.
Anger bled into Ladon's next words. "It isn't enough they hunt us for food and sport, now they will keep us as domestic animals."
"We can send Cole back with a report and the gate address," John said. "If anything happens, the Daedalus can pull us out."
Rodney shot a glance at Ladon then hissed in what he might have thought was a low tone, "The Daedalus isn't here now." He pointed at his bandaged forehead. "You know how fast things can go bad, Sheppard."
John winced.
"Go back with Cole then," Ronon said, proving he'd heard.
As had Ladon. "You don't trust me yet," he said, "but I'll come with you."
"Chancellor, no," his bodyguard spoke up, abruptly reminding them all of his up until then silent presence. Rodney jumped, John and Ronon swiveled to stare at him and Ladon frowned. "Sir," the bodyguard added, "you have no way of knowing how dangerous it would be to go with the Lanteans. Even if they are...trustworthy."
Rodney gaped at him. "Us? You think we're - that's - you're the ones who - "
"Rodney," John said.
"Well, it takes a lot of nerve, is all I have to say about the matter," Rodney replied with a sniff of sheer disdain.
"Look, Ladon, thanks but no thanks, okay?" John said before Ladon could dress down the bodyguard. He tapped on his headset and radioed, "Cole. This is Sheppard. Finish up what you're doing. We're going to brief you and send you back to Atlantis with a report."
"Strike Leader Lacos and I are already on our way, sir. Cole out."
"Woolsey is going to file another report to the IOA," Rodney told him.
John shrugged. It wasn't technically disobeying orders if you hadn't received any to the contrary. He'd learned that lesson. If it got the Athosians back for Teyla, he'd live with the consequences.
"God, you're crazy. Why do I have to have a crazy team leader?"
John ignored him. "Could you get us copies of what Tyre told you and something to play them on? I'd like to send that back with Dr. Cole."
Ladon called in his assistant and made it happen. A carrying case of recording cylinders and a small player the size of a briefcase arrived shortly thereafter, followed by Cole and Lacos. Radio calls were made to several other Genii, presumably other members of Ladon's government, as he made arrangements to leave Genea for the day.
"I think I should accompany Dr. Cole to Atlantis and inform your Mr. Woolsey of what we learned myself," Ladon explained as their group made its way back through the bunker corridors to the hangar housing the jumper. Two bodyguards trailed behind them, along with the assistant with the case.
Cole's face had closed down as John explained what he wanted her to do. She clearly didn't relish the prospect of relaying that the rest of AR-1 had hared off on secondary, off-the-cuff mission. She gave Ladon a quick, grateful glance when he spoke and John could guess why: Ladon's presence would tie Woolsey up and keep him to busy to bother with Cole once she'd reported. John felt a little grateful himself, though he expected to get a lecture and maybe even another black mark out of this.
Lacos matched strides with Ronon and listened with interest. As they reached the jumper, he spoke. "I'd like to accompany you to this planet."
"Why?" Rodney asked.
"To see this through to the end," Lacos replied.
John considered it. Lacos had lost men to capturing Tyre. Finding something from what they'd got from Tyre would make their deaths a little less meaningless. He glanced at Ronon and Rodney to get their feelings on the subject. Rodney looked mulish but gave a reluctant little nod. Ronon said, "He's good."
"You follow my orders, while we're in the jumper or wherever we end up," John told Lacos.
"Agreed, if Chancellor Radim has no objections."
Ladon seemed to consider it before giving his agreement. John knew he wanted a first hand report on whatever they found and Lacos would provide it.
"We'll drop you off at the DHD, you can dial Atlantis, and then we'll take the jumper through to this planet" John said as they boarded the jumper. "Cole, you've got your IDC?"
"Yes," she said.
He considered patting her shoulder as he went by her to the cockpit, but it would have just felt too weird. Instead, he settled for saying, "Good. Remember the confirmation code?"
"Yes," she repeated, a little annoyed.
John waved Ladon into the seat Teyla usually used, while the bodyguards, Lacos and the assistant took seats in the rear. He waved at the men in the hangar and pointed at the doors, then took them through, up, and out of the false-face barn and back toward the gate. Ladon looked out at the rolling fields of ripening tava. "All the aircraft my people have designed have depended on lift surfaces to achieve flight," he said.
"Wings, yeah," John said. "It's...different than the jumpers." Winged aircraft, even jets he loved and the screaming fast 302s, flew according the laws that John's own body recognized. "And then there's the rotary craft." The throbbing power of a helicopter was different too, fighting gravity every second, forcing themselves into the air in defiance of it, always on the edge of tearing apart. The jumpers just seemed oblivious to most physical laws, above gravity and inertia. "They're a different story."
"You're familiar with the theory?"
Rodney snorted. "He's obsessed."
"I'm in the Air Force, it kind of goes with the territory, Rodney," John replied. He flew them to the clearing in front of the stargate and set down, lowering the rear hatch.
Ladon handed John a piece of paper with the gate symbols for their destination hand drawn on it. Rodney snatched it from John's hand before he'd had more than a chance to glance at it and began entering them on his laptop. While he did, John waved Cole forward. "I know this is moving fast, but we don't know what the Wraith may have done in the wake of losing Tyre. We need to find these people before they're moved again." He glanced at Ladon, who had stepped into the rear compartment to speak with Lacos. "You'll have Chancellor Radim in Atlantis, so if this is a trick of some kind, Woolsey can hold onto him to leverage the Genii." Ladon knew how it would work; his volunteering to go back to Atlantis with Cole was a demonstration of good faith. He'd be acting as a hostage, which would hopefully assuage some of Woolsey's inevitable worry.
"Okay, okay, Cole, listen, I've translated the destination to our notation," Rodney said. "It's PY5-GX5. They'll need to check it on the data base, but it's likely somewhere on the fringe of the galaxy, out of the normal Wraith culling patterns if they're really trying to set up a breeding reserve. Have you got that?" He looked up from his laptop.
Cole blinked and repeated, "PY5, uh, - "
"GX5," Rodney prompted. "PY5-GX5."
"I'm sure they can translate it on Atlantis," John reassured Rodney.
"Oh, well, of course, but it doesn't hurt. Just tell them that's where we're going."
Rodney didn't actually look all that enthusiastic, more like he was off to the dentist, but that was his usual pre-mission face, so John didn't worry.
Ladon and Cole exited and Lacos came forward to occupy the fourth chair. "One of my cousins was on Brelgothdir, trading for spice, when the trading station was taken," Lacos said quietly.
Ronon kept his eyes on Lacos, but Lacos' involvement suddenly made more sense.
John watched Ladon dial Atlantis and Cole activate her IDC, before the group went through the ring. He had his radio switched off, so if Woolsey tried to contact him he'd miss it. The wormhole collapsed behind Ladon's assistant. John closed the rear hatch, checked the jumper was sealed in case the stargate took them into space instead of atmosphere, and lifted to hover before the gate.
"Rodney?"
Rodney pressed the symbols on the center console and activated it. John waited while the gate dialed, the new wormhole swooshed open and then stabilized.
"Okay," he said mostly to himself and sent the jumper forward.
[d]
Previous:
[a]
[b]
[c]
[d]
[e]
Evan came through the stargate with two jumpers, more marines, combat medics, Keller and a portable surgical suite. Keller immediately triaged Rodney, Teyla, and three of the Genii back to Atlantis. Ronon was relocated to one of the other jumpers, left to sleep off the stun on one of the benches. The dead were zipped in four heavy black body bags. John held onto his gun and kept watch as Keller prepared Tyre for surgery. The cinnamon and ozone scent John remembered from the only time they'd visited this world before drifted into jumper, while fine as powder dust settled everywhere, much to Keller's dismay. She complained through all of the preparations at the unsanitary conditions in Jumper One and only shut up when John asked if she'd rather operate with the Wraith coming through the stargate.
Lacos propped himself against the cabin bulkhead and watched Tyre along with John.
One of the marine medics, José Miranda, squeezed inside with them and cleaned the cuts on John's face. The sting and reek of the disinfectant made John grit his teeth, but he never looked away from Tyre. "Get some stitches later, sir," Miranda told him and John nodded.
Two more marines secured Tyre to the operating table before taking up guard positions at the hatch.
Evan had brought two more items, courtesy of the science department and the brig: a shielded container to keep the tracker in and a set of restraints, the ones they'd made to Wraith specs. Even an enzyme-hyped human wouldn't bust those. Tyre went into them after Keller closed.
Lacos wanted to take Tyre straight to Genea for questioning.
Two of the marines carried Tyre to the stargate and turned him over to Lacos' remaining men. Lacos made his way to the DHD and braced one hand against it. John followed and Evan joined him. The temperature had begun to drop as night fell on the high desert. The marines had set up portable halogen lamps that cast razor-sharp shadows across the stony ground. A portable generator droned a steady note in the background, the scent of its combustion exhaust eerily reminiscent of Earth. The harsh light bled away color and obscured a night sky John remembered as glitter and indigo. Evan nodded to the body bags laid out in a row next to the DHD.
"Your men have IDCs?" John asked. All gate team members carried them, but the marines usually only had one or two per squad, carried by the squad leader and their commo guy. Atlantis kept requisitioning more IDCs and the SGC kept sending the minimum requirement. John meant to have engineering begin making their own. It would be easier.
"Yes."
John looked at Lacos. "Some of our men can carry your dead through and dial home from Genea."
Lacos nodded wearily. "Thank you."
"Major," John ordered.
Evan activated his radio and called for a detail.
"We'll have news on your wounded," John promised. "Soon." Atlantis' trauma teams were as experienced as the gate teams.
Ronon staggered out of Jumper Two and looked around blearily. He made his way to the DHD, taking in the busy marines, the jumpers, pausing silently at John's cut up face and the body bags. He spotted Tyre, bound and waiting with his Genii guards, and glared.
Lacos dialed the stargate. They waited through the gush of it opening until it settled into placidity, the fluttering blue light less comforting than usual, sending shadows scurrying, its reflections twisting everyone's features into warped expressions.
Lacos motioned his men to take Tyre through. The body bags squeaked, rubber on rubber, as the marines detailed to go with them lifted each. Lacos looked back before walking through the event horizon.
"What'd I miss?" Ronon asked.
The wormhole collapsed. The hum of power from the stargate, that John had not even noted, faded into the sounds of the marines, of the generator and the sizzle of heat from the halogen bulbs, all overlaying the more distant night sounds of the planet, the soft rustles and night cries of the hunters and the hunted.
John gave a shrug that left him reminded him he hadn't pulled so many Gs in years as his muscles protested. He felt sore all over, deep down, and tired to the bone. Just the prospect of returning to Atlantis and debriefing added to his weariness. Ronon could hear the story when John told Woolsey.
"Sir, go back to Atlantis, get yourself stitched up, check on the Doc," Evan told him gently and John realized he'd zoned out, braced against the DHD the way Lacos had.
Keller joined them before John could say yes or no. She peered at his face. "Let's go. Cole and Abiki will be in surgery with the two critical patients; if that third man goes sour, I'll be needed. I want to check Rodney's scans, too."
Evan pushed John's hand slightly to the side and began dialing. "Respectfully, sir, you're ready to fall over."
"Okay," John acceded. He glanced back at Jumper One. The little ship had still been responding to him like a well trained polo pony, even if it had been lamed and hurting. The salvaged Wraith tech remained in the rear cargo area, pushed aside to make room for Keller's surgery. "Get my baby home and the tech in it back down to the labs - have Radek check it. We don't need any more surprises."
"No sir, we don't," Evan agreed.
The wormhole opened and Evan sent through his own IDC. Ronon wrapped a hand around John's elbow and pulled when John didn't get himself moving fast enough. He started walking because otherwise Ronon would probably pick him up and carry him. He'd been dawdling, delaying, he realized. He didn't want to go back Atlantis and find out Rodney had been alive, but wasn't now, or wasn't...wouldn't ever be himself again.
Woolsey was waiting on the gateroom floor as they came through. He started forward, but Keller waved him off. "Not now. I want both of them in the infirmary and scanned. Anything else can wait." John didn't know if he loved or hated Keller just then, but Woolsey folded, and he went along to the infirmary, finally letting Jens Laughingwater, the day shift trauma specialist, work on his face after examining him.
Teyla slipped past the privacy curtain while Laughingwater was sewing up the second worst cut, her arm in a cast and sling, looking freshly showered though and free of her mission gear. John relaxed minutely. If Rodney had been in serious shape, Teyla would have stayed by his side.
"You're lucky I studied plastic surgery as a specialty before going into emergency medicine," Laughingwater said. The needle and thread tugged strangely at John's skin, despite the anesthetic Laughingwater had administered. "You aren't even going to have any scars. The cuts are all nice and straight and clean."
John made a muffled sound, half agreement, half gratitude. He knew he had a good face and didn't really want it messed up, really didn't want the way some people would look at him if it were.
"Not like Dr. McKay," Laughingwater went on. John jerked and turned his head. Laughingwater grabbed his jaw. "Hold still or I'll leave you with a big red zigzag."
Teyla set her good hand on John's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Rodney will be well," she assured him.
"Of course, he will," Laughingwater said. "He's got a mild concussion, some temporary hearing loss on one side, a face full of cuts just like these, and he's going to have scar over his forehead where the bullet tore open the skin on its way across."
John squeezed his eyes closed. There had been so much blood, like a red shroud over Rodney's features. Head wounds bled a lot, he knew that, no matter whether they were serious or not. But Tyre had had the gun to Rodney's head...John's stomach churned, bile rising up his throat to lie on the back of tongue, the bitter taste of fear and failure. Rodney was alive, he repeated to himself; Rodney would be all right.
He let his eyes stayed closed as Laughingwater went on working, the intense light of the spot being used to light the work shining warm and orange through his lids.
"Lucky, lucky man," Laughingwater declared. "Both of you. The scar won't be bad, I'm a damn fine hand at this sort of thing. Interesting conversational piece eventually. Must have scared the hell out of him at the time, though."
"Thank you," Teyla said when John said nothing.
He felt another distant tug and a bit of pull along his cheek.
"There, you're all done, Colonel."
John opened his eyes. Laughingwater was stripping off his gloves, already on his way out of the cubicle.
"Rodney is in one of the private rooms where it is quieter," Teyla said. "I left Ronon with him."
Laughingwater stopped him long enough to hand over a blister pack of muscle relaxants, then John followed her to the back of the infirmary.
He stopped in the doorway and leaned there once he caught sight of Rodney. His friend was dressed in pale yellow scrubs. All the blood had been washed away, but many of the cuts on his face were still unbandaged, lines of red under the glisten of antibiotic ointments. A wide white bandage wrapped around Rodney's head like a headband. He had an IV in one arm, nothing else. John watched Rodney's chest rise and fall until his own breathing matched the same rhythm, feeling lightheaded, the last hollow ringing settling into the silence in his head. Rodney looked paler than usual and he needed a shave, his beard coming in like a gunmetal shadow where his jawline softened into his neck. John wished he could touch, to just feel skin and the steady jump of Rodney's pulse there. Rodney's lashes looked longer and thicker than a man had a right to with his eyes closed, the color hidden under thin, blue-veined lids. He seemed incredibly fragile, more than he had even in the jumper.
John's legs decided they'd had enough and he just slid down the wall until his ass reached the chilly floor. He sat, knees bent, hands empty, dazed by the gratitude he felt, just watching Rodney breathe, with Ronon sprawled in a uncomfortable chair next to his bed and Teyla standing in the doorway next to him. Today he might have lost any one of them, all of them, and they were everything. They were everything to him.
Teyla sank down to the floor with him and took John hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. Her hands were tiny. Calluses from the bantos sticks made her palms tough. She squeezed his hand.
"I would never have forgiven myself if Rodney had died." Because I am a warrior and meant to protect him John heard, unspoken, echoing his own feelings.
"Wouldn't have been your fault," Ronon said. "I should have - "
John tightened his hand on Teyla's and found his voice. "Mine. It would have been mine. Christ, if the acceleration hadn't forced Rodney's head back just that much, Tyre would have blown his brains out instead of just grazing his forehead."
"It wasn't anyone's fault, so you should all shut up," Rodney croaked. He didn't open his eyes and his mouth pinched into a thin, pained line. "I'm not dead, though, oh, God, my head hurts enough I almost wish I were. Especially if it meant I never had to listen to you three start your latest 'I'm the Guiltiest' deathmatch."
Teyla laughed and even Ronon chuckled, while Rodney began a whispered diatribe that included all their respective parents, their parents' parents, Dr. Abiki's Caribbean diploma mill medical degree, and plans to create new and especially vile methods of torture to be tested out on all of them before he used them on Tyre. John let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes. He still had a report to write after debriefing with Woolsey and he thought he'd have to ask Ronon to help him back to his feet if he stayed on the floor much longer, but he didn't mind at all.
He managed to fit a shower in before spending three hours debriefing with Woolsey, Evan sitting two seats down the table, facing the camera that was the latest IOA innovation. Transcripts weren't enough any longer, they wanted to have video, so that they could sic their analysts on every blink and twitch and yawn. In consequence, debriefings had become stiff, blank-faced recitations, all the nuances they once discussed but left out of the reports unspoken entirely.
The dial-in from Genea offered a welcome escape, as Woolsey ended the debriefing and waved John to join him in night-time dim control room. Ladon was on the other end of the live, two-way video feed, neatly-bearded face up on the main screen. Ladon had reverted back into full Marshal Paramount uniform and John felt relieved he had changed after his shower, even if his face was covered in plasters. Woolsey, at least, looked as immaculately dressed and poised as ever, aiming a diplomatically pinch-mouthed smile at the screen as though a late night call from the Genii was just what he needed to complete his day. John settled for a head nod.
Ladon wanted news of the three Genii wounded.
Keller, surgical cap still covering her hair and looking as tired as John had seen her, came up to control from medical. She reported, addressing a spot somewhere between Woolsey and the image of Ladon on the big screen. All three men were stable.
"Abiki had to remove one man's spleen, but we're fairly sure he'll recover. The other man we're monitoring to make sure his lung doesn't collapse again," she explained. "Number three is going to have a spectacular scar, but he's stitched up and you can have him back tomorrow if you want."
Ladon nodded. His gaze shifted, maybe looking from Keller to John. "And Dr. McKay? Teyla Emmagan?"
"They're both going to be okay," John said. Lacos must have reported they were wounded, too.
"That's a relief," Ladon replied. He seemed sincere. His expression hardened. "We have begun questioning the Wraith worshipper."
"This Tyre person," Woolsey corrected him.
"Who he was does not matter."
John agreed but kept silent.
"Has he said anything useful?" Woolsey asked.
"He is resisting," Ladon answered. "Breaking him will take time."
"Breaking," Woolsey repeated. "What exactly are you doing to him?"
Ladon caught on to Woolsey's disapproval. "What is necessary. Unless you have anything that could soften his will better than our methods?" His voice turned hard. "Or you, Dr. Keller? Perhaps you know of a drug to make a prisoner talk?"
Woolsey stiffened beside John. Before he could say anything however, Keller whipped off her surgical cap and snapped, "I'm a doctor, not an interrogator. No one in my department will help torture anyone." She glared at Woolsey and then John, who hadn't said anything, then stalked away.
"I'm afraid we can't help you," Woolsey told Ladon. He smiled tightly. "We'll dial in tomorrow to send your man home and update you."
"Yes, of course," Ladon replied. "Mr. Woolsey. Colonel Sheppard. Until then."
"Good night, Chancellor," Woolsey said.
"Talk to you tomorrow," John added.
Woolsey gestured to the comm tech and the connection cut, then the wormhole collapsed, followed by opalescent sheen of the shield. John looked at the empty ring for a moment. The window beyond was darkened, filled with shadowed reflections, though the stained glass lost the last time the gate room was half destroyed had been replaced. He'd lost track of the time and would have had to check his watch to know exactly, but they were somewhere halfway through Atlantis' night. A rough calculation told him it was morning on Genea. It would be an unending day for Tyre.
"What about those Goa'uld memory device things?" John asked.
"No," Woolsey said.
He considered arguing, but figured it for useless. He wasn't sure he wanted Woolsey to tell him yes, they had something better and would let the Genii use it, anyway. The thing was, though, he'd seen it before, seen it over and over and he wanted to tell him they were long past the line, had been for years before the US Air Force or the SGC sent them through the stargate; that complicity while someone else did the dirty work didn't leave your hands any cleaner. Ronon walking into a room with Kavanagh and a knife at least owned his own sins, didn't pretend to clean hands afterward. They were going to accept whatever the Genii learned from Tyre and use it.
"Report in my email by noon tomorrow," Woolsey ordered. He sighed. "We should all get some sleep."
"Good idea," John agreed.
"Remind Specialist Dex and Miss Emmagan, please."
"Sure. McKay?"
"Dr. McKay may take an extra day since he has been wounded. A concussion, I understand; though I observed a disturbing amount of blood when he was brought through the stargate.And, of course, Ms. Emmagan will be off the mission roster until her arm heals. I've supplied her with a voice recorder so that she can dictate her report."
"I'm sure she'll appreciate it."
"Well then. I'll bid you good night, Colonel."
John lingered after Woolsey left, soaking in the quiet sounds of the night shift, the rhythms of the city between emergencies, before taking a transporter to the residential quarters. He got his boots off and stripped down to boxers and a tee shirt before collapsing into sleep. He woke once from a dream of wind whistling through broken glass, frost coating his fingers, reaching for something. He couldn't see it or remember what it had been while lying on his back, blinking blearily at the coppery ceiling, waiting for his stiff muscles to unseize enough he could stumble into the washroom and find the muscles relaxants Laughingwater had pressed on him. Something important, he thought, before falling back into sleep, this time dreamless as death.
Keller released Rodney in the morning. Despite his complaints of possible aneurysms, brain damage and disfigurement, Rodney popped several Tylenol and went to the labs instead of his quarters. No one, including Keller, felt any surprise. Radek had begun preliminary analysis of the Wraith equipment after evaluating it for any immediate danger. Rodney couldn't stay away from that without physical restraints.
Thirteen hours later, Rodney barged into John's office, unshaven, shoulders rounded in exhaustion, his eyes bloodshot red and ringed with bags. The wide bandage over his forehead had gone a sort of grimy gray, adorned with smears, a coffee stain and a gooey patch of something that looked like it belonged in an outtake of The Blob.
"Hey," John said and quickly waved Evan out of the only other chair.
Rodney dropped into with a grunt that signaled gratitude. He completely missed Evan's amused expression, which disappeared as soon as he noticed John had seen. John suppressed a smile of his own.
"So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?" John asked. "Need some marines? Maybe a pilot? Someone with a real gene? Or did you just miss me?"
"Ha. Ha. Ahhhhhh." Rodney slumped down until he could rest his head against the seat back with that pathetic little groan. He even closed his eyes. "Miss you? Are you sure you aren't the one with a concussion?"
Evan made walking motions with his fingers and John nodded to him. They could discuss the growing discipline problem with LaRue the next day. John had already decided the best choice would be to send LaRue back to Earth the next time one of the SGC ships made a supply run. He really didn't want to end up with LaRue in the brig. It just made more work for the rest of their people. The Daedalus was due in the next two weeks; let Earth deal with this problem child. Evan slipped out quietly.
John waited for the door to close before opening his desk drawer and bringing out his giant bottle of Excedrin. "Headache still bad?" he asked sympathetically. He'd had enough concussions to know it was. The little pained frown that squinched Rodney's brows together even with his eyes closed gave it away.
"Hideous."
Without opening his eyes, Rodney held out his open hand and John dropped two pills into his palm. He winced as Rodney dry swallowed them.
"Life saver," Rodney croaked afterward. His Adam's apple worked. "Jesus, John. We ended up working with biology, figuring out what that crap was."
John perched on his desk corner.
Rodney gestured blindly. "I mean, first we went with chemistry, but those damn Wraith bio-organics had them more confused than an elephant in a tutu, so we had to get Neumann and Gritty, Grisky..." Rodney frowned then snapped his fingers. "Gretsky - "
"You only remember that because of the hockey player," John pointed out.
"Yes, so? As I was saying, biologists of all things, and they wouldn't have figured it out without the brilliance of yours truly, along with Radek, too busy oohing and ahing over the horrible goo..."
John let Rodney's words wash over him, soothing and familiar, by turns irritated and excited and punctuated with hand waves and finger snaps, emotions flipping fast as the fanned pages of book, all of it comforting the raw place inside thinking Tyre had killed Rodney had left.
"...invisible tattoos."
"What?"
Rodney had his eyes open now, studying John shrewdly. "I'd begun to think you weren't listening to me."
John shifted uncomfortably. "I was listening." Maybe not hearing, but he'd definitely been listening.
"Hmph."
"Invisible tattoos?" John prompted. "Also, why are you here, telling me? Wouldn't, I don't know, Keller, be more interested?"
"Because I don't need to shower and change and write up a report to talk to you. I can forward the data to Keller and tell Woolley-Bully at morning staff. It's not like its anything, oh, say, useful, anyway."
John wrinkled his nose, though he couldn't actually smell much from Rodney except a whiff of coffee. Teasing might perk Rodney up, though. "You should reconsider the shower option."
"This from Colonel Spars With Sweaty Apes." Rodney drew in a deep breath. "We think we've figured out what Tyre was doing from the salvaged tech."
"Yeah?"
"He was tagging people with a biological marker. Nothing they could see, but either the Wraith can or they have some kind of sensor to read it. That's not relevant, the Wraith seeing part, I mean."
"Why?" John asked. "And can we trace the marker?"
"No idea," Rodney answered. "And no. It's not a signal and from what we can tell, it will degrade in about six months. Shed with the skin cells. From what Neumann and Radek came up with, Tyre would just have to coat his hand with this stuff, it wouldn't show up to anyone, and then just touch them. Shake hands, whatever. It soaked right through clothing when we tested, so it could seem like a pretty innocent contact. It does smell a lot like vinegar, but I don't think it would be noticeable outside a closed room."
"So, we're still left hoping the Genii get something from Tyre."
Rodney sighed. "Yes. Don't think I like it any more than you do."
John reached over and patted Rodney's arm, not thinking about it for once. "No one expected we'd get the answer from that stuff, you know."
"I'd hoped."
They always hoped they were going to find the one thing they needed to stop the Wraith. It hadn't happened yet.
"I know."
John pulled his hand back as he realized Rodney was looking at it. He looked down at his boots, wishing he could just be natural with Rodney at least. There were so many things they understood without needing to explain to each other, he hoped Rodney knew some of what he might never be able to say.
Morning staff again, this time with Woolsey prodding Keller into admitting the Genii were ready to go back home and Evan lobbying to delay a mission scheduled for the next week instead of assigning it to different team, something about Parrish and some plant, fara, fana, he wasn't clear about it. Either it was an appetite suppressant or a stimulant. Rodney presented what Radek and Neumann's team had on the salved Wraith tech. Which wasn't much. They were left hoping the Genii succeeded in extracting something from Tyre.
The bandage over Rodney's forehead had been changed and looked smaller, leaving his hairline visible.
They scheduled a jumper run to Genea to return the wounded. Dr. Cole would accompany them to brief the Genii doctors on their status and what had been done and what care they would need. Woolsey suggested just sending the medical records only to have Radek dryly point out that while everyone who went through the Pegasus stargates received a version of Trade, it didn't even have an alphabet and the Genii wouldn't be able to make any sense of paper reports in English or any Terran language. The closest thing to universal written language in Pegasus was Ancient and only a tiny proportion of the population were literate at all. Having your civilization knocked back to the stone age every hundred years or so had that effect.
"Make sure Dr. Cole understands she's to brief the Genii doctors and return with Colonel Sheppard," Woolsey told Keller.
They managed to cover a project overview for the biology and botany departments, none of it exactly fascinating John. He expected a request that he assign marines to a mission to acquire sufficient soil from PXF-D43 in the coming weeks if he'd understood the part about rare elements and enhanced crop yields.
"I think that's it for today," Woolsey declared, pushing his chair back from the conference table.
Rodney was already on his feet, gathering up his laptop and tablet and the yellow coffee cup lifted from the mess hall contrary to regs. John kicked back and rose too. He scooped the coffee cup out of Rodney's grip. "I'll get this back to the mess. If Sgt. Harris runs inventory on the kitchen and comes up short again, he's going to run a commando raid on the physics labs."
"He'd have to get past the disintegrator rays and robot attack dogs."
"Yeah, but think, if he didn't, who'd cook up Monday Mystery Meatloaf?"
John fell into step beside Rodney, swinging the empty cup by a finger through the handle as they went.
"Yes, well, the only mystery about the meatloaf is that the Ancients didn't discover it and use it as a building material."
John laughed as they reached the transporters. "You mean they didn't?"
Rodney thumped the wall with his elbow. "Who knows what's behind some of these panels?"
"Okay. I've got paperwork. See you at lunch?"
Rodney stepped into the transporter. "Sorry. I'm going to eat in the lab and work through lunch."
"Then I'll see you in the gear room at fifteen-hundred," John replied and stepped back enough to let the transporter doors close. When the opened again, he stepped inside and headed for his office, stopping in Evan's office to leave Rodney's cup on his desk next to several others John had absconded with himself. Evan would get them back to the mess.
Lacos waved the jumper down into a grassy meadow just beyond the stargate, boarded and directed John past the nearest fake village to a barn built into a hillside. Ronon exchanged a nod with Lacos, then stood back while Lacos spoke quietly with his men. He radioed a password when they reached the barn and two 'farmers' cranked open the doors to the hayloft. John flew the jumper in and through a second set of concealed doors that led into the first level of the Genii bunker complex. Ladon was waiting when they landed, along with his body guards.
Rodney whipped out his Ancient PDA as soon as they walked down the jumper's ramp to the concrete floor. "Checking for radiation," he muttered. The bunker was dim enough the PDA's screen reflected light from his features.
"And?"
"Low level, about like living next to the Mt. Diablo power plant or Lawrence Livermore."
John filed that away and greeted Ladon, introducing Cole and explaining she had come along to tell their doctors exactly how their wounded had been treated.
"Strike Leader, please accompany the doctor and your men," Ladon told Lacos.
John caught Cole's gaze and tapped his headset. "Check in every hour."
"Gotcha," she said and followed Lacos and the gurneys with the wounded away.
John closed the jumper up, initiated the shield and pocketed the remote. He smiled at Ladon. "Lead on."
Ladon studied the faint heat shimmer that the shield produced. "Is it the same as the shield over your stargate?" he asked, reminding John that before he'd removed Cowen and ousted Kolya, Ladon had been one of their top scientists.
"Somewhat," Rodney said.
Ronon followed them as Ladon took them deeper into the bunker. An elevator took them three more level below the surface. The lights spaced along the corridor ceiling were five sided, cubes with the sixth side comprising a plug. Each of them had a heavy wire grill protecting it. The yellowish light threw the team's ahead of them, fluid and black. A vibration ran through the concrete under their feet and the walls when John ran his hand along one.
"Turbines," Rodney muttered.
Ladon slowed his pace and nodded. "Yes. This facility is powered by an underground river we've harnessed."
Rodney perked up, interested as always by any sort of engineering involving energy. "I don't suppose you'd let me see the actual plant? Are you using a dam to increase pressure or gravity?"
"Perhaps later," Ladon said. He gestured to a door. "In here."
Here proved to be an office, not unlike the offices at the SGC, though smaller. There were seats for all of them and a young Genii officer who scurried out when Ladon waved at him. He returned with cups and a pot of aromatic tea, pouring for Ladon first, then John, Rodney, and Ronon, before retreating again.
Settled and sipping the blue tea, Ladon asked about Teyla.
"Just a broken arm," John said. He tried the tea. Not bad. A little flowery, but definitely superior to the muddy, bitter stout tea the Athosians liked so well. He wondered if the Genii grew it or traded to get it. "She's off active status until the cast comes off, but it's nothing to worry about."
Ladon's gaze rested on the bandage still around Rodney's forehead and John's cuts. "I see. Lacos' report indicated Dr. McKay was hurt badly." He glanced at Rodney again, who was sniffing his tea warily, and added wryly, "But I can see he is all right."
Rodney sniffed again. "Barely. You'd think someone who was shot in the head would get a little more sympathy, but no."
"You were grazed," John said.
"My head!" Rodney pointed at the bandage. "Shot. I don't have a giant pimple under this, you know."
John ducked his head, grinning. Pimple? Sometimes Rodney made it so easy he didn't have the heart to take advantage.
"Quit whining," Ronon said.
"Have you made any progress with Tyre?" John asked to forestall a shouting match between his team mates. Ronon had been edgy since the mission, upset he'd been stunned and helpless while Tyre almost killed Rodney, guilty over Teyla's arm, furious at Tyre and the Wraith, and probably, somewhere down where he didn't have to admit it to anyone, worried and grieving for Tyre, at least as he'd known him once. It made for a volatile mix, one Rodney's complaints might set off.
Ladon rubbed his hands over his face, then set them flat on his desk. He studied John. "I do not know if your doctors might have helped, the deterioration was sickeningly fast..."
"He's dead?" Ronon asked, his voice gone rough.
Ladon confirmed it. "At first, he seemed almost inhumanly strong, defiant, and then he appeared to go into withdrawal. Our doctors were monitoring him; it shouldn't have been a problem: he was strong and healthy and we've detoxed people before."
"The enzyme," Rodney said. He set his cup down and rubbed his arms. "If he'd been getting it since Sateda fell..."
"Seven years," Ronon said. "It would have been bad, but Tyre was strong. What happened?"
Ladon looked grim. He took a key to a cabinet against the back wall, opened it and revealed a primitive cathode ray tube screen. A second drawer beneath the monitor cabinet was opened with another key. It was filled with cylinders, perhaps two centimeters in diameter, nine in length. He handled only the tops, pulled the second one from the first row and slotted into a circular receptacle below the screen, then flicked a switch.
The screen stayed dark, then flared from a single point into grainy but colored image.
"See for yourself," Ladon said. His lips tightened and he looked at John again.
The screen showed an interrogation room, with Tyre strapped to a table. A blindfold covered his eyes and he'd been stripped naked. The picture quality didn't obscure the details of the room. The table was metal, bolted to the floor, the restraints were built into it. The floor appeared to be plain concrete and had a small square drain in the center. The lights were too bright for the camera and washed out some detail on pale surfaces, while the shadows were brutal black and sharp edged. A second table sat against on wall, with a variety of 'tools' carefully set out for use. Five Genii were in the room with Tyre; besides two guards, there was an officer in uniform, a slight and balding man in a pale gree smock, and a stubby, heavily-muscled man wearng a rubber apron, pants and boots: interrogator, doctor, torturer.
The doctor examined Tyre cursorily then nodded and stepped back.
"Braga, Dr. Ordis, and Gebbis."
Gebbis laid a broad board over Tyre's chest, then hefted a square weight onto the board. Next he took the blindfold off. Tyre squeezed his eyes shut against the glare of the overhead light.
The picture didn't have any sound or Ladon hadn't turned it on, but John could imagine the wheezing gasp Tyre let out, his mouth open. He fought against the restraints, but finally collapsed back, gasping for breath.
"Braga tells him they'll begin where they stopped the day before," Ladon narrated. "There's an audio recording and a transcript. I don't think either are compatible with your technology."
"Play it and I can record it," Rodney said.
"That would work."
On the screen, Tyre turned his head and spat at Braga. Braga glanced down at the wet stain on his uniform but did nothing. Gebbis stepped forward and placed his hand over Tyre's nose and mouth. He held it there, muscles rippling in his shoulders and biceps while Tyre bucked and writhed, until Tyre went still, the weight on his chest crushing down. Watching, John winced, though it was already done. When Gebbis let him breath again, Tyre had to fight for the air he desperately needed, half-smothered and pinned.
Braga turned Tyre's face and spoke to the doctor, who checked Tyre's pulse and nodded. Braga spoke again.
"Braga now says that they will begin. He asks how long Tyre has betrayed humans for the Wraith," Ladon relayed in a flat tone. He watched the screen now. Gebbis had retreated to his table of implements. "Tyre does not answer. He asks if Tyre would like something to take the edge off the withdrawal."
"Nothing really does," Rodney said. He'd turned away and crossed his arms over his chest. Sweat glistened at his temple. "How could he even talk like that?"
John didn't blame him. Given another circumstance, he would have walked out of the office himself. He didn't want to look, but he had to.
Ronon grunted and John looked back at the picture.
"This is where it begins," Ladon said.
John felt his stomach start to crawl up his throat.
Tyre seized: body thrashing, teeth snapping together repeatedly, eyes rolled back in his head. As his body collapsed down, it aged. Lines scored his face, muscle collapsed, skin went loose. His hair didn't go gray, but some of it fell out on the table under his head.
"What - ?" Ronon exclaimed.
The doctor bustled between the camera and Tyre. Braga and Gebbis both tripped back from the table, looking horrified. Then the doctor gestured and Gebbis removed the weight and the board. Tyre gasped and rolled his head to the side to stare at Braga. He spoke, words spilling fast and desperate, terror clear on his face.
"Here he begs to be sent back to the Wraith."
"God, why?" Rodney asked, risking a glance at the screen and looking horrified.
John wished he hadn't had any of the tea.
"The Gift of Life, the thing the Wraith do," he choked out.
Rodney looked at him, concern writ so clearly on his face John had to look away. He stared at the screen instead as Tyre seized again, aging another ten years before their eyes. Whatever the Wraith had done to or for Tyre, it wore off. John swallowed hard. Why hadn't it worn off with him? Or maybe it would. He couldn't think about it now, so he shook his head at Rodney.
Ladon had been watching them and John remembered that he'd been in Atlantis and seen Kolya's live broadcast of him being fed on. He probably had some clue to what had happened afterward and what John was thinking now. He had the grace to say nothing.
The recording showed Tyre screaming, then choking as he aged steadily. He talked between sobs and curses and smaller, more frequent seizures that left him crepe-faced and hairless, joints swollen, hands twisted into arthritic claws and his eyes cataract white.
"He offers to tell everything," Ladon narrated, and added, "I don't know if he thought we could give him back to the Wraith again or wanted revenge."
"Revenge," Ronon stated and from what John had observed of Satedans, he thought that had to be it.
John made himself watch stone-faced as the image of Tyre on the screen finally shuddered and collapsed into drooling decrepitude. "Did he tell you anything useful?" he forced out.
"A Ring destination where he said the Wraith had taken many people he and other worshippers had marked for them," Ladon said.
"Have your tried it?" Rodney asked. "Did you recognize it? Did he say what they wanted from the people they took?"
"One of our people used the symbols Tyre provided. It wasn't a world any Genii knew."
Ronon frowned at Ladon. "So you didn't send anyone through?"
"It might be a lie, it might be pure chance that the destination is a real place," Ladon pointed out. "If Tyre didn't lie, it is still a trap. He also admitted there was no way to use the Ancestor's ring on the other side. The Wraith intend their captives to stay and populate the planet. Tyre's mission was to locate villages with mostly young, fit adults who could 'breed'."
The jumpers had their own DHDs. John wondered if Ladon wasn't angling to get access to the jumpers again, but the story made sense. Without a working stargate and DHD, any people the Wraith put on that world would be marooned.
"Just like a roach motel," Rodney muttered, echoing John's thoughts. "It's kind of surprising they didn't try this before, with the extended lifespans they can long term plan without relying on succeeding generations to finish any work..."
"McKay, shut up," Ronon interrupted him. Tension rolled off him. The muscles in his shoulders shifted and twisted, hinting at the turmoil seeing Tyre die had to have stirred through him, and the anger he always felt toward the Wraith. "We're going to get them?" He glared at John. "Right?"
Rodney looked at John, then Ronon, then John again and his face twisted into unhappy recognition. "Oh, come on. You can't really mean to - Look, we should go back to Atlantis, pick up a couple of brigades of marines, and Teyla, before heading off into the wild blue wormhole. Sheppard, tell me you aren't serious - "
Aside from the fact Atlantis didn't have even one entire brigade of marines, John didn't think Woolsey would authorize another Genii-Lantean jumper mission. Jumper One was still out of commission and Radek had threatened John's life over breakfast after seeing it the first time. Teyla was still out of commission. She'd never want them to delay the mission until her broken arm healed. He figured it was go now or not at all.
Anger bled into Ladon's next words. "It isn't enough they hunt us for food and sport, now they will keep us as domestic animals."
"We can send Cole back with a report and the gate address," John said. "If anything happens, the Daedalus can pull us out."
Rodney shot a glance at Ladon then hissed in what he might have thought was a low tone, "The Daedalus isn't here now." He pointed at his bandaged forehead. "You know how fast things can go bad, Sheppard."
John winced.
"Go back with Cole then," Ronon said, proving he'd heard.
As had Ladon. "You don't trust me yet," he said, "but I'll come with you."
"Chancellor, no," his bodyguard spoke up, abruptly reminding them all of his up until then silent presence. Rodney jumped, John and Ronon swiveled to stare at him and Ladon frowned. "Sir," the bodyguard added, "you have no way of knowing how dangerous it would be to go with the Lanteans. Even if they are...trustworthy."
Rodney gaped at him. "Us? You think we're - that's - you're the ones who - "
"Rodney," John said.
"Well, it takes a lot of nerve, is all I have to say about the matter," Rodney replied with a sniff of sheer disdain.
"Look, Ladon, thanks but no thanks, okay?" John said before Ladon could dress down the bodyguard. He tapped on his headset and radioed, "Cole. This is Sheppard. Finish up what you're doing. We're going to brief you and send you back to Atlantis with a report."
"Strike Leader Lacos and I are already on our way, sir. Cole out."
"Woolsey is going to file another report to the IOA," Rodney told him.
John shrugged. It wasn't technically disobeying orders if you hadn't received any to the contrary. He'd learned that lesson. If it got the Athosians back for Teyla, he'd live with the consequences.
"God, you're crazy. Why do I have to have a crazy team leader?"
John ignored him. "Could you get us copies of what Tyre told you and something to play them on? I'd like to send that back with Dr. Cole."
Ladon called in his assistant and made it happen. A carrying case of recording cylinders and a small player the size of a briefcase arrived shortly thereafter, followed by Cole and Lacos. Radio calls were made to several other Genii, presumably other members of Ladon's government, as he made arrangements to leave Genea for the day.
"I think I should accompany Dr. Cole to Atlantis and inform your Mr. Woolsey of what we learned myself," Ladon explained as their group made its way back through the bunker corridors to the hangar housing the jumper. Two bodyguards trailed behind them, along with the assistant with the case.
Cole's face had closed down as John explained what he wanted her to do. She clearly didn't relish the prospect of relaying that the rest of AR-1 had hared off on secondary, off-the-cuff mission. She gave Ladon a quick, grateful glance when he spoke and John could guess why: Ladon's presence would tie Woolsey up and keep him to busy to bother with Cole once she'd reported. John felt a little grateful himself, though he expected to get a lecture and maybe even another black mark out of this.
Lacos matched strides with Ronon and listened with interest. As they reached the jumper, he spoke. "I'd like to accompany you to this planet."
"Why?" Rodney asked.
"To see this through to the end," Lacos replied.
John considered it. Lacos had lost men to capturing Tyre. Finding something from what they'd got from Tyre would make their deaths a little less meaningless. He glanced at Ronon and Rodney to get their feelings on the subject. Rodney looked mulish but gave a reluctant little nod. Ronon said, "He's good."
"You follow my orders, while we're in the jumper or wherever we end up," John told Lacos.
"Agreed, if Chancellor Radim has no objections."
Ladon seemed to consider it before giving his agreement. John knew he wanted a first hand report on whatever they found and Lacos would provide it.
"We'll drop you off at the DHD, you can dial Atlantis, and then we'll take the jumper through to this planet" John said as they boarded the jumper. "Cole, you've got your IDC?"
"Yes," she said.
He considered patting her shoulder as he went by her to the cockpit, but it would have just felt too weird. Instead, he settled for saying, "Good. Remember the confirmation code?"
"Yes," she repeated, a little annoyed.
John waved Ladon into the seat Teyla usually used, while the bodyguards, Lacos and the assistant took seats in the rear. He waved at the men in the hangar and pointed at the doors, then took them through, up, and out of the false-face barn and back toward the gate. Ladon looked out at the rolling fields of ripening tava. "All the aircraft my people have designed have depended on lift surfaces to achieve flight," he said.
"Wings, yeah," John said. "It's...different than the jumpers." Winged aircraft, even jets he loved and the screaming fast 302s, flew according the laws that John's own body recognized. "And then there's the rotary craft." The throbbing power of a helicopter was different too, fighting gravity every second, forcing themselves into the air in defiance of it, always on the edge of tearing apart. The jumpers just seemed oblivious to most physical laws, above gravity and inertia. "They're a different story."
"You're familiar with the theory?"
Rodney snorted. "He's obsessed."
"I'm in the Air Force, it kind of goes with the territory, Rodney," John replied. He flew them to the clearing in front of the stargate and set down, lowering the rear hatch.
Ladon handed John a piece of paper with the gate symbols for their destination hand drawn on it. Rodney snatched it from John's hand before he'd had more than a chance to glance at it and began entering them on his laptop. While he did, John waved Cole forward. "I know this is moving fast, but we don't know what the Wraith may have done in the wake of losing Tyre. We need to find these people before they're moved again." He glanced at Ladon, who had stepped into the rear compartment to speak with Lacos. "You'll have Chancellor Radim in Atlantis, so if this is a trick of some kind, Woolsey can hold onto him to leverage the Genii." Ladon knew how it would work; his volunteering to go back to Atlantis with Cole was a demonstration of good faith. He'd be acting as a hostage, which would hopefully assuage some of Woolsey's inevitable worry.
"Okay, okay, Cole, listen, I've translated the destination to our notation," Rodney said. "It's PY5-GX5. They'll need to check it on the data base, but it's likely somewhere on the fringe of the galaxy, out of the normal Wraith culling patterns if they're really trying to set up a breeding reserve. Have you got that?" He looked up from his laptop.
Cole blinked and repeated, "PY5, uh, - "
"GX5," Rodney prompted. "PY5-GX5."
"I'm sure they can translate it on Atlantis," John reassured Rodney.
"Oh, well, of course, but it doesn't hurt. Just tell them that's where we're going."
Rodney didn't actually look all that enthusiastic, more like he was off to the dentist, but that was his usual pre-mission face, so John didn't worry.
Ladon and Cole exited and Lacos came forward to occupy the fourth chair. "One of my cousins was on Brelgothdir, trading for spice, when the trading station was taken," Lacos said quietly.
Ronon kept his eyes on Lacos, but Lacos' involvement suddenly made more sense.
John watched Ladon dial Atlantis and Cole activate her IDC, before the group went through the ring. He had his radio switched off, so if Woolsey tried to contact him he'd miss it. The wormhole collapsed behind Ladon's assistant. John closed the rear hatch, checked the jumper was sealed in case the stargate took them into space instead of atmosphere, and lifted to hover before the gate.
"Rodney?"
Rodney pressed the symbols on the center console and activated it. John waited while the gate dialed, the new wormhole swooshed open and then stabilized.
"Okay," he said mostly to himself and sent the jumper forward.
[d]