Colonization
Blue.
It was a pretty shade. A soothing shade. A deep but rich cobalt color on the wall. And this close a lighter blue could be discerned within it, even a teal shading that shyly revealed a greenish hue that was all but invisible except up close. This close, as Moira O'Meara was nearly being knocked into the wall. A rhythmic thrusting guiding her up, up, up to the wall as she stared at the blissful color. Before closing her eyes as the sexual pleasure flooded, flooded as the orgasm neared. Stuttering whimpers escaping her lips with each possessive motion.
"Colonel Sheppard to the control room. Colonel Sheppard to the control room." The calm voice broke from the comm unit on the opposite wall with crystal clarity. Overriding the whimpers and groans emanating from the bed.
John Sheppard groaned. Twice. Once from the abrupt interruption. Once from the exquisite pleasure that was cascading up and down his cock as spasms brought him closer, closer to release. Deep inside Moira he thrust, thrust again, sensual bursts escalating as she tightened on him. Just beginning to pulse with his quickening motions.
Moira moaned, tensing her muscles over him. Clutching the headboard. "Oh John! Oh John, John!" she strained, circling so close to the climax now she trembled with anticipation.
John grunted, a series of expletives leaving his lips as he thrust once more, determined to bring them both, to fall heedlessly into the rush of sex, of love, of passion.
"Colonel Sheppard to the control room. Colonel Sheppard, please respond."
"Fuck!" he snarled. Rested on her back a moment. Fingers sliding from the top of her cleft, from one hard nipple. He kissed her bare shoulder. "Sorry, baby. Hold position." He slid out of her, eliciting another delicious murmur from her. He rolled onto his back, side. Sat and snatched his earpiece off the nearby table. Tapped it. "This is Sheppard! Copy!" he growled, voice harsh. Irritated. A sensual undertone made the words breathy. Made Moira turn her head to stare at him. He sat with his back to her. Tension visible in his bare back. His broad shoulders. Droplets of sweat slid down his side. Down the nape of his neck.
Moira freed the headboard. Sat, bending her knees under her. Relaxing, annoyed and frustrated. Her body was still reeling, still demanding. Unsatisfied. "John?" Her voice was terse. Breathless.
"Sir, we're reading an energy fluctuation. It was very quick and gone now. I've called Doctor McKay."
"Understood. I'm on my way. Sheppard out."
Moira smirked. Sighed heavily. "Isn't that the truth, sweetie? Sheppard out. Damn it, John! Now? It is always mid-coitus! Do you have an alarm on your ordnance?"
He laughed, turned to her. She had an annoyed, flustered expression. Hair wild, swirling down her bare shoulders, down to her bare breasts. Bare skin glistening with sweat. He eyed her breasts, her hips. He lunged across the bed to kiss her. A deep, teasing kiss as his hand ran up her back. "If there is, baby, you always set it off."
She smiled. "But we didn't get off, sweetie!" She pouted prettily. "And you were so close! So close!"
He sighed. Kissed her again. "I know, damn it. Don't you move. I'll be back ASAP. Damn it!" he grumbled, strode to his room to dress.
Moira pulled a blanket around her, sighing. "Hurry, sweetie! There's nothing worse than a half-fudge."
He laughed. "Don't I know it, baby! Damn it!" He returned to her, clad in a black t-shirt, blue pants. Paused to fasten the double holster straps on his thigh. Checked his nine millimeter handgun before he slid it into the holster. He kissed her for a long moment. "Don't move, Moira. I fully intend to finish what I started."
She smiled. Touched his jaw. "Without the gun, I hope, colonel."
"Huh? Oh." He shrugged. "You never know. Don't move, baby. When I get back I will do a thorough recon and then we will deploy fully."
"You better, sweetie. Else I may have to demote you to major."
"That's not fair, baby," he pouted.
She smiled. Touched his thigh. "Sorry, colonel. Those are the rules."
"Damn it!" He kissed her again. Left.
John strode to the control room, glowering. Pure murder in his eyes. His body tense, unsatisfied. Still feeling Moira enfolding him, taking him. Her scent lingering on him. The vision of her naked body dancing in his mind. He strode to Rodney McKay who was hunched over a console, fingers flying over the keyboard. "Status!" he barked.
"Sir! There's been no other energy spikes," a technician reported in a yelp, making John briefly smile.
"Rodney?"
"Pinpointing the origin as we speak. It only lasted two tenths of a second. Huh. We're receiving."
"Receiving what?" John looked over the scientist's shoulder. A swirl of colored bursts were filling the screen. Looking more like squiggly lines than any kind of coherent information.
"A data burst. Here. It's encrypted."
"Can you–"
"Of course! Running an algorithm now." He scooted to another console. "Oh oh."
"What oh oh?" John asked, following.
"The data burst...it came from the, um, from the anomaly."
"The what?" John asked softly, slowly. His temper flaring.
"Only for a fraction of a second! Just enough time for a data burst to infiltrate our systems. That's all! No ship got through!" Rodney assured. Glancing at his friend.
"McKay," John warned.
"It's closed, John, I swear! Look!" He tapped the screen. "The protocols shut it down at two point three seconds. No time for any physical object to pass into our reality. It's like someone slipped a note under the door but the door is still shut and locked."
"Son of a bitch!" John swore, somewhat relieved. But not quite. "Bypass it to a firewall–"
"Already done! Ah...here we go. Translation in three, two, one." Rodney stared. "What the...what kind of language is that?"
John stared, frowning. The letters were definitely English. Just not the words. He glanced at his wedding ring. Recalling the inscription on it. Glanced back at the screen. "Son of a bitch. It's in Gaelic."
Rodney looked at him. "What?"
"Irish." He tapped his earpiece. "Moira, I need you in the control room now. Hurry!"
"Um, John, are you sure it's–"
"Yes! Are you one hundred percent positive that nothing else, that no one got through?"
"Yes. There wasn't time–"
John tapped his earpiece again. "This is Colonel Sheppard. Delta, Beta patrol the southwest pier, all ingress points from the ocean. Lorne, Reynolds, to me with full squads."
"John, there's no way he could have gotten through," Rodney insisted, shaking his head.
"John, Rodney, what's happening?" Elizabeth Weir ran to them.
Both men stared at her. At the odd appearance of a tennis racket clutched in one hand. Her white outfit fetching, especially the shorts. Rodney pulled his gaze up from her long legs to meet her worried gaze. "Huh? Oh, we've received a transmission from the anomaly, but nothing else got through. Nothing else," he insisted, glancing at John before turning back to the computer.
John smirked. "Hold onto that. You might need it," he quipped, looked at the screen again. He recognized Moira's name scattered here and there among the puzzle of words he couldn't read.
"What language is that?" Elizabeth asked, staring at it. She twirled the tennis racket in her hand slowly.
"Gaelic."
"Gaelic?" She looked at John. "Then it's from the–"
"Yes." John turned as Moira rushed to him. Hastily clad in a blue t-shirt, khaki pants. Her loose hair flying behind her. "John? What is it?" she asked, breathless. Anxious.
He smiled at her disheveled appearance. "Translate." He pointed at the screen.
Moira stared at him. Eyed the screen. Looked back at him. "That's...that's Gaelic!"
"I know. Translate," he repeated.
"I...how...the colonel?" she asked in disbelief. Alarm.
"He's not here, Moira." Nevertheless John stepped next to her. Touched the comforting solidity of his sidearm holstered on his thigh.
"Are you sure she can translate the whole–" Rodney started to ask.
"Yes. She can. Moira?"
"I can try. I mean, I'm a bit rusty," she hedged. Staring at the words as her mind was already translating them. Trying not to react to some of the more startling, personal words.
"Rusty? Can you do it or not? I'm sure I can find a suitable translation program but it may take a while as Gaelic isn't exactly the first or even tenth choice on most computer programs," Rodney grumbled.
"I don't know!" she flared, meeting his gaze. "It's not like I ever speak it here!" She leaned to look over Rodney's shoulder. "Can you send a copy to my–"
"Done." John tapped a key, typed a command.
"Hey! I was going to–" Rodney objected.
"I'll need to consult a dictionary. I haven't read this much Gaelic for several years," she explained, eyes racing over the script.
John watched her, suspicious at the delaying tactic. Wondering how much she was actually able to translate. "Moira? The gist of it," he prompted.
"The enzyme virus...worked, nearly complete extermination of the ATA Wraith," she picked out phrases, words, uncomfortable under John's assessing scrutiny. "Side-effects...collapsing proteins...advance to the Alpha site...several hostages to...security breech. 'Gate access to...ninth chevron power acceleration?"
"Whoa, wait! That again? Ninth chevron power acceleration? Like how that pod dialed off that planet with the hibernating Wraith drones? Details?"
"Oh my God!" Moira exclaimed, eyes widening. She straightened, catching John's arm. "John! They're coming! They're coming here!