He sees her again as she walks in the room. How many times has she walked toward him? How many nights has he played this scene through again? He'll play it again and again until it changes. He has all the – well, time is relative.
She wears a sleeveless sheath dress, well-fitted but unrevealing : the hem a modest length just above the knee. Her shoes are conservative pumps with just enough heel to lend definition to her bare calves. A simple string of pearls and a clutch hand bag are her only adornments – a classic beauty, very Audrey Hepburn.
Seated at the hotel bar, he pulls his eyes away to sip his drink. This part always gives him trouble. He's tried many opening gambits. Conversation starters. Icebreakers.
He's tried Flirtatious. Brooding. Charming. Bored. Shy. Awestruck. Compliments. A silent nod. A simple 'hello'.
Sometimes she politely acknowledges him then dismisses him. Sometimes she exchanges pleasantries or asks him politely whether he's enjoying the event or if he's bored silly by it.
He always offers to buy her a drink. Sometimes she accepts – but never more than one. Sometimes she declines. Once she offered to buy him a drink instead.
The details vary but no matter, inevitably her attention wanders and she excuses herself.
Sometimes he follows, always at a discrete distance, to see what happens after she leaves the room. Presumably she heads for the ladies room. Usually, as she approaches the hallway, a character he's come to think of as "That Other Guy" intercepts her. That Other Guy is usually tipsy, sometimes downright inebriated. Sometimes she seems to know T.O.G. – or maybe she's feigning – sometimes not.
He recalls One Particular Night, he followed them into the hallway to find T.O.G. blocking her way and making unwanted advances. When he quietly asks if everything is alright, T.O.G. makes the mistake of threatening him. He suggests to T.O.G. that his response will be: a.) one-handed, b.) painful and c.) not leave a mark. T.O.G. is just sober enough to recognise his conviction and totter away without another word. Of course, she politely thanks him but informs him she had the situation completely under control. That Particular Night proved to be rather a short night.
But back to This Night : he looks up to watch her approach and finds her…gone. He furrows his brow.
A voice behind him asks, "Care to dance?"
He turns completely around. This is Something New.
"Excuse me?" he asks dumbly.
With a hint of a smile and a subtle lilt, she asks again, "Will you dance with me?"
Tongue-tied, the words fumble out of his mouth, "I, uh, I don't really…dance per se. Two left feet and all. Can I buy you a drink?" he adds more enthusiastically.
Her smile widens. She consents, "For now," and orders a White Russian.
He stares. She's never walked right up to him before. Off-balance, he searches for his best move.
She stares back. "Such bold eyes for a shy tongue."
"Sorry? Oh," he relaxes, back on his game, and charmingly apologises, "You'll have to forgive me. I've never actually been 'stunned by beauty' before."
She smiles brilliantly. "Ah, a sly tongue rather. Since you've been staring at me all night, shouldn't I have your name?"
"John Sheppard." He watches for a reaction.
"Ville Evans."
"I'm very pleased to meet you."
She arches an eyebrow. "I'll just bet you are."
He takes that as a personal challenge. "Are you flirting with me?" he smirks.
"I can stop if you want," she teases.
"My undernourished ego is asking 'may I have some more, please'."
Her laugh rings like delicate crystal. The band winds up the lively tune they've been playing and segue into something slower, more sedate. "Now, you've stalled long enough, John Sheppard. Come and dance with me," she takes his hand and leads him to the floor. His eyes travel irresistibly down her backside.
At his firm, sure tug on her hand, she snaps crisply around and takes a sulky step back towards him, thinking maybe she should have waited for a tango. She imagines he'd be very good at it if he gave it a go.
He meets her halfway. His hand slides down to where her hip meets the small of her back and gives the flesh beneath a squeeze.
She responds, "Bold hands to go with those bold eyes. And suddenly you discover you have a right foot after all."
His confident smile reaches all the way to his eyes. "I confess. I was completely caught off guard. Or perhaps you just inspired me." He presses gently on her hip to turn her then closes up behind her, careful not to crowd. His free arm slips around her waist.
She tips her head back against his shoulder. "Nice touch that."
"Thank you." As she completes the turn, he draws her back to him, sure to keep a little bit of daylight between them. After all, as far as she's concerned, this is their first 'date'.
She has other ideas, testing the boundaries of his personal space but never touching.
He wants to kiss her, very much so, but he can't. Not yet. She settles down, impressed by his restraint and poise. He seems content to gaze upon her face, into her eyes, as if searching for Something.
"You look at me as if you know me," she whispers, "Have we met before?"
Skirting the truth, he assures her, "If I had met you before, I'd definitely remember you. Maybe it was another life." He watches her face as she contemplates his answer. The music has stopped but they continue their slow movement.
Sensing his reticence, she presses him, "You seem familiar in some way but I don't know you."
He stops their motion and leans in to ask, "Would you like to?"
They spill into his hotel room, groping and kissing. She kicks the door shut behind them, undoing his tie as he sheds his jacket. Stumbling against the bed, he pulls her down onto his lap.
She gasps, "I hope this isn't your favorite shirt," and violently yanks it open, peppering them both with flying buttons.
"That never happens in the movies," he complains, making her laugh as she kisses him again. The hem of her skirt rides up her thigh as she kicks off her shoes. Next she gathers up her hair and glances over her shoulder to indicate that he really should do something about the back of her dress. Drunk on her aggression, he nuzzles her neck as he slowly and evenly draws the zipper downward. She shivers delicately as his fingers trace her bare spine and the dress Comes Undone.
('Don't lose yourself in me')
"What?" she breathes dreamily.
Passion aside for the moment, he asks, "Do you always pick up strange men in hotel bars wearing nothing under your dress?"
Her eyes open wide; her hands fall on his arm to steady herself. "What?" she repeats in confusion. He runs his warm hand up her back and she realises he's right. She gasps, "Oh my god."
"As much as I would love to continue this, it's not why I asked you up," he confesses regretfully.
"Are you sure?"
Quietly he says, "I need you to do something for me. I need you to remember me."
"After tonight, one way or another, I'm sure I will." Deeply embarrassed, she avoids his gaze.
"No, no, I don't mean it like that." He presses his hand flat against her upper back and rubs gently. "You see, none of this is real."
"Is this some sort of New Age prostelyising because that's not what I came up here for."
He turns her face back to his and gently kisses her.
('Wake up, Ville')
"What?" Confused, she breathes, "Who are you?"
Quietly, he answers, "A friend. A…close…friend."
"I've never met you before." She levers herself out of his lap, holding her dress up with one hand and trying to retain a modicum of dignity. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," she suggests and backs toward the bathroom.
Crestfallen, he hunches over with his arms on his thighs and his eyes on the floor, "Yeah, maybe." She bends over to work her zipper back up without busting a seam. Observing his demeanor, she almost feels sorry for him.
He shakes his head, "No, no, don't think like that. I meant maybe it's too soon." Wryly, he adds, "I could use phone-a-friend right now."
She ventures back into the room to retrieve her shoes. "Excuse me?"
Absently he clarifies, "Jonathan. Your son. I think he knew something like this was going to happen."
Suddenly she turns indignant, "Son? Do these hips look like they've been bearin' children?"
Startled, he tries to placate her, "No, not at all…."
"I'm sure I'd remember if I'd had a baby or not." Angrily she slips on her shoes.
"I'm sorry!" he aims his irritable apology in the general direction of her hips. "Look, I've never gotten this far with you before!"
"And now, you never will," she snaps at him and heads toward the door.
He jumps up and slaps his hand against the door as she reaches for the handle. "Now wait just one damn minute! Listen. What if I could prove it to you? That none of this is real?"
"Bollocks," she swears and folds her arms, "and how would you go about doing that?"
He steps back and spreads his arms, "I can manipulate it however I want."
"So much for the undernourished ego. You don't seem to be manipulating me very well."
He protests, "You're a conscious entity; you have free will. In fact, you're even better at this than I am. You just don't remember."
"You're completely mad."
"Alright, let me show you. How did you get here tonight?"
"I drove, of course."
"What kind of car?"
Without hesitation, she informs him, "An Aston Martin DB9. Why?"
He takes her elbow to draw her to the window, "Come here. Is that it?"
Several floors down and off to one side is the entrance drive to the hotel. Glancing out, she answers, "Yes."
"Is it fair to say that when you decided to come up, you were planning on staying awhile?" Taunting.
"Perhaps." Chilly.
"So why do the valets have your car out front, ready to go?" Smug.
"They probably just needed to move it out of the garage." Doubtful.
He points out the window, "Which direction did you drive in from?"
"From the Pacific Coast Highway," she gestures vaguely. "It's right down there."
"Where?" he presses her.
"Well, you can't see it for the fog, of course."
"It's summer. We're above the tree line. Why is it so foggy out?"
"This is Northern California. What do you expect?"
"There is no PCH out there because there's nothing beyond the fog. What you see – this is it. This is all there is to this reality."
"I thought you said it wasn't real." Triumphant.
"Just answer me this : did you or did you not have underwear when you came up here?"
Blushing, she hugs herself tightly. "I…I don't…obviously…."
Neutrally, he presses on, "What year were you born?"
Her eyes sweep the room. "I'm going now."
"What was your mother's name?"
She backs toward the door.
"What's your favorite flavor? What high school did you go to?"
"Stop it! I am leaving."
"To where…?" She storms out the door, leaving him to finish his question without an answer, "because I can't recreate it for you if I don't know where you're going." With a frustrated grunt, he falls back onto the bed. "Guess I'll see you again tomorrow night."
She fairly flew out the front entrance, nearly bumping into the head valet. "Ah, good evening, Ms. Evans. We'll have your car brought round right away." He signals one of his staff as the couple in the DB9 drive away.
Absently, she thanks him and stares at the bank of fog across the way. How neatly it stops short along the other side of the road. Tranced out, she doesn't even notice another car pulling up in front of her or the valet getting out until he hands her the keys. Thoughtlessly, she exchanges them for the bills that simply appear in her hand. The assistant valet holds the door as she slips behind the wheel of the blue '65 Mustang and bids her drive carefully. The head valet glances at the tip she gave him – two five hundred dollar bills. He wonders if they're real.
She quickly accelerates up through the gear box, guiding the car through a one hundred eighty degree turn onto the main drag leading out of town.
The car red lines at one hundred twenty miles per hour. She speeds along, into the fog, heedless of any possible traffic. Visibility lessens until there is nothing left but the car and a few feet of road. She tries to remember the landscape she's supposed to be passing through.
The fog retreats and shows her the streets of Malahide, a suburb north of Dublin. "That's impossible." The fog closes in again.
She closes her eyes and mats the accelerator. When she opens her eyes, she's zooming along Lake Shore Drive with Lake Michigan on her left.
She shakes her head violently. The fog closes in again. Agitated, she tries the radio to calm her down.
'Solitary Man'
"No." She twists the tuner dial.
'Somewhere In The Night'
"No." She changes the station again.
'If you twist and turn away, if you tear yourself in two again…'
"No!" She angrily snaps the power knob into the off position but it's too late. A heavy pressure in her chest grows, pushing outward, threatening to break loose. Panicking, she desperately tries to clamp down on it. When it finally escapes, it tears her soul out of her. She sobs uncontrollably, humiliated. Gasping for breath. Terrified. There are no fight or flight options – the danger exists only inside her head. The center starts to fall apart.
When the sobs begin to die, she tries to clear her head. As she crests the hill, the fog shifts again revealing the ferry terminal at Tiburon. Beyond the shore, however, the Bay remains shrouded. She rolls to a stop. There are no lights – not from the Golden Gate nor the light houses at Point Blunt and Point Stuart on Angel Island.
"This is crazy," she mutters. Fumbling with her clutch bag, she tries to remember what she's looking for – a cell phone. No signal at all. She smashes it against the dashboard, tosses it away and covers her face. 'You're ridiculous. Pull yourself together,' the rational part of her mind mocks, sending her into free-fall. Her breathing hitches as she begins sobbing again.
('Ville. Where are you?')
White knuckled, her fingers curl around the steering wheel.
The dock. Easy. Simple. This would all be over. The Pain. The Fear. The Sorrow.
She could slip away, under the water, into the darkness.
A dangerous calm settles over her as she revs the engine and pops the clutch. The needle on the speedometer climbs.
('Ville. I need you.')
She gasps as if stabbed but ignores the call.
('Ville. Come home.')
"No!" she screams, beating on the wheel.
('Ville. Please don't go.')
Tears of anger and shame wet her face. Yanking on the hand brake and hauling on the wheel, she slews the car around spraying gravel and dirt. Releasing the brake, she downshifts to let the tires grab some road. Speeding back the way she came somehow she is not surprised to see the big hotel looming out of the fog in mere seconds. She slams on the brakes, hitting her head on the wheel while the car slides to a stop.
John Sheppard opens the door and leans into the car. "You okay? Here, look at me for a sec." He checks her head wound (superficial) and her pupils (sluggish). Her entire body begins to shiver. "You're in shock. Probably have a concussion, too." He works his jacket around her then lifts her out of the seat.
He puts her under a hot shower for a few minutes, methodically dries and wraps her in a robe. He walks her to the bed but when she tries to lie down, his gentle hands guide her into a sitting position instead, arranging pillows to lean on and tucking a series of blankets around her. "I'm sorry about this but if you've got a concussion, I can't let you sleep."
She mumbles, "Said this wasn't real." Her unfocused eyes wander aimlessly.
"Well, it's more like a metaphor, really. The concussion is a metaphor for what's wrong with you so I need you to… metaphorically stay awake," he finishes lamely. Mentally kicking himself for pushing her too hard, he puts his arms around her as best he can. "Listen, I know you're scared," he pushes away the notion of how close she came to slipping away, "but I am right here. I'm not going anywhere." He rocks her slightly, rubbing her arms, inhaling the scent of her hair, feeling the softness of her skin, touching the texture of her thoughts, imparting a sense of warm calm and a Persistence of Being.
The next morning, he starts awake. No reset. He feels hopeful but the bed next to him is empty. "Oh, no." Then he hears water running in the bathroom. He clears his throat loudly then peeks in the doorway. She sits on the edge of the tub with her face in her hands, shoulders hunched, worrying her bottom lip. Steam covers the mirror.
"Hi," he says quietly. She raises her eyes. "You okay?" She lowers her eyes. "You gonna use up all the hot water?"
"I thought you made all this."
"Well, I'm just naturally lazy." Without answering or looking up, she reaches behind her and turns off the water.
He extends his hand. After several long moments, she reaches, hesitates, then decides to lay her hand in his. "Come on," he encourages her.
She pads back to the bed and climbs on board, covering her feet and lap with the blankets and slumping in on herself.
"How's your head feel?" He leans forward to take a look. She passively submits to his examination. The bruise is almost gone, the cut healed. Of course. Her eyes are focused and she seems better oriented than last night. He sits and waits. Sits and waits. Mostly he waits. And he sits.
"Are you ever gonna talk to me again? I'm just asking so I can pace myself accordingly."
She looks at him with very old and tired eyes. "Who are you?" she asks once again.
"A friend," he answers in what he hopes is his most assuring voice.
"A lover?"
Experiencing a sudden attack of discretion, he backs away from that, "I wouldn't necessarily," and gestures in a searching manner, "more like…a companion. Or a partner."
"I felt you in my mind last night." Flat.
"Yeah. Sorry about that. I just wanted to make sure you're okay." Concerned.
"Because I tried to kill myself." Dully.
"That's not exactly an accurate description." Sympathetic.
"What is?" Tired.
"It was more like you were running away. An escape, you were scared, hurt."
She gulps trying to maintain her composure. "How do you know? About what I was feeling?"
Gently, quietly, he says, "Because I was with you the whole time."
"You stopped me." Accusingly.
"No. No, I didn't. That was you." Sincerely.
"But you created all this, right? You control everything."
"I don't control you," he replies defensively. "I made all this so we could interact with each other."
"Because I'm asleep."
"Yes." Relieved.
"Then this is just a dream."
"I wouldn't characterise it like that. More like, uh, a metaphor." Hopeful.
She lowers her head toward her lap. Frustrated.
"I'm sorry. I know this all seems weird. You're tired and confused. To be honest, I'm a little confused."
Dejected, she looks up at him, "Why didn't you want me?"
"Beg pardon?"
"Last night. Why didn't you want me?"
"Oh! No, it's not that I didn't because I did. I mean, I do, really, but you're not exactly yourself right now. I didn't want to take advantage." Earnest.
She considers that. "We're the only real people in this place?"
"Depends on your definition of people."
"And I don't remember anything?"
"Well, not yet." Tender.
"You know me and I'm supposed to know you."
"You do know me. You just don't remember yet," he quietly assures her.
"Then let me know you," she implores him.
Torn, he prevaricates. "You mean, 'know' me like…knowing in a Biblical sense?"
"In a what?" Exasperated, she struggles to follow his logic and meaning.
"Never mind. Are you sure about this?"
She crawls over and kisses him. "Because if you're not," he responds between kisses, "I'll completely understand," and slips his hands around her waist, pulling her down as he lies back. He prefers to let a woman control her own destiny during a sexual encounter. No misunderstandings later. Well, almost never.
He tastes her emotions, slides over the texture of her thoughts, letting her get used to feeling his mind touching hers. Her consciousness laps at his like waves against a pier. He lets those waves break over him until he's gathered the courage to open his mind, to offer himself up to her.
She senses his reticence but responds to his pull and slides across the surface of his mind. He relaxes as she insinuates herself between his thoughts. He tugs her deeper. She slips beneath the surface.
('Don't lose yourself in me')
('We are going underwater')
'You're swimming a little too deep
Take my hand and breathe
That's what it feels like
When you come up for air
You feel brand new
When you come up for air'
She emerges into the White Place. Turning round and round. Alone. "John!"
'How to be the perfect Stranger,
The perfect Lover, Wanting
And as you'll discover, Giving
And as you'll discover, Being
Come swim into my love
Come swim into my life'
"Hey." He steps out as the sun peeks through.
Her Ocean at his back.
His Beach beneath her feet.
Smiling, she throws her arms around him. He, however, does not reciprocate.
"You did it," she praises him as she's confounded by his reaction. "Isn't this what you wanted?"
He insists that it is. "I just don't think we're out of the Woods yet. What do you remember?"
"You not destroying Pegasus? And no, galaxies don't 'go nova'," she admonishes.
Chagrined, he admits, "It's just that, well, Rodney destroyed a solar system once. I was afraid I could do him one better."
"But you didn't," she soothes him.
"I managed to build this place again but whenever I try to leave, I end up back at that creepy Hotel California. You know – you can check out but you can't leave?"
"Really. How did you find me again?"
"I tried to imagine a place we could meet, woke up at the bar and saw you across the room. You didn't know who the hell I was though. Did you notice those people never talk to each other? Weird."
"Actually…I don't really remember a hotel," she said cautiously.
"No? Then let's go somewhere. Anywhere and you'll see what I mean."
They entered the bar without any transition. There were groups of people standing and sitting around but John was right – they weren't actually interacting with one another.
"A whole room full of telepaths?" John suggests.
"Did you ever try talking to any of them?"
"Just the one guy who kept hitting on you."
"What?!"
"Long story. Do you wanna hear it or do you wanna find a way outta here?"
They find a kitchen that leads nowhere. A lavish lobby with an ornate staircase but it only leads back to John's room. There were no other rooms in this hotel.
"Well, isn't this cozy," John murmurs.
"Fine, I'm just gonna ask." She walks up to the reception desk.
"Ah, Ms. Evans. Good of you to visit with us again."
"How do I get out of here?"
"Through the front door is the valet station. They'll bring your car around."
Sighing, she motions John out the door.
"You tried this – it didn't go so well."
"We'll just have to try again," she says confidently.
The valet brings around the '77 Camero. "Actually, I think this is my ride," John says, taking the keys. "Don't suppose it makes a difference though."
"Okay, you drive."
He pulls out of the driveway and heads out. "Which way?" he asks.
"I'm not sure it matters in this fog. Where do you want to go?"
"Honestly? Atlantis. Not necessarily back to the people we know but I wanna know what happened after we left."
Doubtfully, she says, "Are you sure? What about that time you were thrown into the future? That wasn't so great."
"You mean we can't get any closer than 48,000 years?" Through the fog, vast vineyards appeared rolling away from the road.
"It's not precise, no. I used to find myself waking up in strange places with people who knew me but I didn't recognise. Once in awhile I'd end up relatively close to a time and place I'd been in before but that's not such a good idea causality wise."
"So how do you get anywhere at all?"
"I go swimming."
"Swimming? You mean literally?" A large house and barn crept over the horizon. "Hey. That's one of the houses I grew up in. We've haven't been driving that long."
"Time is relative, remember? Let's give it a shot."
He halts the car at the end of the lane. "What if I don't like what I find?"
"Change it."
"I can do that? Just like that?"
"We're on a higher plane of existence – how badly could you screw it up?"
"Well, when you put it like that…."
John walks in the door to find it pretty much as he remembers it from a year ago – okay, the fourth year of his Atlantis tour of duty – when he came back to see his brother Dave.
'I didn't think you'd be back.'
'Well, I'm surprising everyone including myself this week.'
After the pleasantries and tea, John starts in, 'Look, I know I wasn't the dutiful son like you but I honestly thought my leaving was what Dad wanted. To tell you the truth, I didn't think I'd be missed.'
'Well, maybe I was too preoccupied to know what you were going through with Dad but, John, you never even tried. I came home for spring break that year and you were gone without a word or a goodbye. And you've been pretty much out of touch since you entered the Air Force academy.'
'I know and I'm sorry. What do you want me to say? My job is classified and….'
'Save it, we've heard it before. It would've been nice to hear 'hey, I'm alive' once in awhile.'
'Alright. Point taken. Listen, I'm not here to fight or cause you any trouble. Being home this week made me realise you never know what anyone is really thinking. Even those closest to you. What happened between me and him is my business. That doesn't have to come between us unless you want it to.'
'Fine. So how are you? You happy?'
"Okay, that's enough of that," John cuts off the scene.
"Is that how it really went?"
"Doesn't matter anymore does it?"
"It matters to you," she says quietly.
"I don't have any regrets. Let's get out of here."
They get back in the car and moments later drive up to the hotel. "See what I mean?"
"What's the last thing you remember – after not destroying Pegasus?"
"We were in the White Place and went to sleep. I woke up at the bar, I was standing there, waiting. Then you walked by."
"But you've been here before, when you were corporeal."
"No, I've never seen the place in my life. I figured it was one of your places since everyone here seems to know who you are."
"I don't remember…," she trails off and goes through the entrance. John stays close; he doesn't like where this is going. "First time I was able to manipulate reality like this, my team was stranded on a planet in a virtual reality kind of thing. There was fog there, too, come to think of it. Wait, you don't think…."
"No, I don't." She turns around in the lobby then walks back into the bar area. She reaches out to the minds of the people around her. Nothing. Either they weren't real people or…
"It's the Others," she whispers. All heads turn in her direction.
"The Others? As in the Ascended Others?"
"You really shouldn't fight us so, child."
Ville turns quickly and gasps, "Abbe. What's going on?"
A man of medium height and white hair stood behind them. "You have gone too far this time I fear. Like Oma de Sala, you helped a human ascend. You knew that was against our law."
"Their law doesn't apply to me; I'm not Ascended. I was never human."
"That is why you continually pull away no matter what we try."
"Excuse me, who is this?" John interrupts impudently.
"Amoung other identities through the ages, this is the Abbot of Mount Melleray in Ireland. At least that's where I usually find him when I need his guidance. He was one of the Atlanteans that evacuated back to Earth through the Stargate with my father."
"Wait, your father was Atlantean?" John rushes to keep up.
"I discovered his likeness, and Abbe's, in the database. That was how I realised that my father had been human at one time."
"So this place is like what? A hangout for Ascendeds?" John looks around at the still staring faces. "Why can't we leave?" he asks with a growing suspicion.
"Because we have not decided what to do, if anything. Ville has always been willful but, while still young, she has matured a great deal recently. Many, however, feel she is outgrowing the ethic system her father instilled in his…creations and that concerns us all."
"So it's like a teenage thing," John concludes.
"Yes, and as for you…."
"He is under my guidance and protection," Ville insists forcefully.
"We could force him to resume human form."
"No, you cannot," Ville states, "he has a choice."
"Look, I'm not going anywhere…."
"You may not have a choice, my son. That is what we are debating."
"That's it, we're outta here," he takes Ville's hand. "I'm going back to Atlantis, not necessarily back to when we left but that's where I'm going. What we need is a different kind of ride." He uses his ability to conjure up an F302. "Now we're talkin'."
"I wouldn't try that if I were either of you," Abbe warns. "They won't stop trying to bring you into the fold."
"How many times have I been here? How many times have they wiped my memory?" Ville demands to know. "Whose side are you on?"
Abbe shakes his head, "I promised your father I would look after you and I have. But you can't simply ignore the Others."
Angrily, Ville says, "Watch me," and turns to go with John.
"Strap in back there, this could get bumpy." He fires the 302's engine. Instantly they find themselves in space. The ship rocks. "What the hell?"
"Someone is shooting at us?"
"Oh crap. I'm picking up three bogeys on our six. Hang on," he rolls the ship through evasive maneuvers. He jukes and loops his way into position behind one of his targets. He blows it away and changes his trajectory to avoid a shot from another hostile.
"Go to hyperspace," Ville calls over the radio.
"This is a short range fighter. We don't have hyperdrive!"
"You do now – me, I can get you enough of a boost to get away."
"You mean us, don't you? Don't you? Ville, talk to me. What are you thinking?"
"I'll give you a boost of energy. You can go wherever you like."
"I'm not going without you."
"Then we're going to have to fight off the Others together."
"The Others? That's who's shooting at us? What about that non-interference directive?" Another 302 appears on his wing, Ville at the stick.
"Now the odds are even. So to speak. Wait – they're retreating."
"Guess they didn't want a fair fight."
"Meet ya on the Beach. We'll try this again."
The hologram lady had been replaced by a recording of McKay, a diary of sorts, an annual State of the City address. Who it was meant for is unclear. John skips through the history of the expedition. "Nearly as long as the expedition itself. That man just can't stop talking. Here's something."
"I'm Doctor Rodney McKay. Today is the 15th anniversary of the Expedition's arrival in Atlantis. The past 12 months have been rather daunting. The Antarctic Outpost was the target of a terrorist attack. It's still unclear if it was one deranged individual or the act of an organisation. Rebuilding is ongoing. Wolsey is having to spend a lot of…political capital to gain assistance. It's rather humiliating actually, an outpost of Atlantis needing humanitarian aid. There was some debate on the Council of recalling the Outpost team but leaving that much powerful technology lying around for…Earth humans was out of the question. Deserting the Outpost would be irresponsible. It's not what our Illustrious Leader would've wanted. I say that as a term of endearment, not that she was our leader, well she was but…anyway, moving on.
"Icarus base is secure but morale is at an all time low. Forty seven days ago, Destiny did not answer our hails at the weekly check in. We sent a MALP through but the gate room was deserted. Our ability to search the ship remotely is limited but so far we've found no indication of what happened to the Destiny group. The popular theory is they found a planet to settle on. The Council, however, agrees with Councilman Lorne's assessment that Colonel Young would have reported any serious talks of settlement. No, it's more likely they were forced to evacuate, possibly due to alien attack or other shipboard emergency. Our chances of finding them, let alone rescuing them seems an impossible task. With that, it's becoming difficult to recruit replacement personnel for the post.
"Also, the Colony on JS151967 is not doing well. Religious intolerance has set in and Atlantis has chosen to back away from the Colony for awhile to assess the situation. The Council is concerned that the transplanted population may cut off access to the Stargate and leave Icarus personnel stranded until they could be ferried back to Earth via Puddle Jumpers. Icarus is only 27 lightyears from Earth but the two Puddle Jumpers we have aren't designed to transport large numbers of people, even with hyperdrive. They're also quite claustrophobic as I can personally attest to.
"I regret the news is not more positive. Here in Pegasus, we've reached an equilibrium. The Wraith Civil War continues. The Hoffan plague has pretty much burned itself out, the affected societies driven to near extinction. Sooner or later the Wraith will figure out their food supply is safe again. Cullings on plague planets will be devastating. Uh, Drs. Keller and Beckett continue their work on the retrovirus. Our erstwhile Wraith ally Todd continues to hold out the promise that his Alliance will be able to disseminate the drug once it's, um, debugged.
"This is Rodney McKay signing off for another year."
John says, "There's more if you want to hear it. Maybe why the city is on the ocean floor again or why it was deserted?"
Ville shakes her head. "I don't think I can stand to listen to anymore."
"Maybe they all ascended, huh?" John doesn't put much conviction behind the notion. "So what do you want to do now? Stay put, charge our batteries? Use the gate to venture out and take the pulse of the galaxy?"
She admits, "I could use some rest."
"Then on to Destiny?"
"I don't know if that's such a good idea anymore. The window for helping those people may be closed."
"We could take control of the ship. There's bound to be logs left behind – we turn the ship around back to wherever they got off."
Ville shakes her head. "It doesn't work like that, John. Like it or not, they've apparently made a choice. We have to respect that."
"What are you talking about?"
"If they've decided to work together, they've step taken a step down a path that we shouldn't interfere with. Whatever society they make should be allowed to fail or flourish on its own account."
"And we can't even check in on them?"
"Schroedinger's law – observation changes the state of the subject. We'd be interfering."
"They don't have to know we're there…."
"John. Give it a rest, okay?" She places her head in her hands.
"Too many damn rules." Sheppard wrestles with his conscious. "Maybe they found the planet I made."
"You what?" Ville's head comes up.
"It's a moot point. Forget I mentioned it."
She smiles wanly, "What am I going to do with you?"
"Well, I can think of a few things. Like what we started back in my hotel room for one…."
"You're incorrigible."
"So tell me about this Abbe character. What's his deal?"
"I'm not sure. I always thought of him as a childhood friend but after that business, I don't know if I can trust him anymore."
"He certainly didn't seem to be on your side."
"Or maybe he was just trying to walk a fine line, like my father, Janos."
"Wait just a minute - Janos was your father? The inventor? Daniel and Rodney searched for a lab of his for months and never found anything.."
"Thankfully they never asked me. There's some dangerous stuff in there."
"You know where it is? Never mind, look who I'm talking to."
"Speaking of Abbe, I sense his approach." Another hologram appeared on the pedestal. In a clipped British accent, Abbe spoke, "Permission to come aboard?"
Flabbergasted, John retorts. "Permission? Is he serious?"
"I think he's trying to be polite."
"He's your friend."
Ville gestures Abbe to appear. "Welcome back to the city, Abbott."
Abbe smiles gently. "No need to be so formal, child."
John echoes, "Yeah, no need for that - what the hell was that about back there?! And shooting at us? Seriously?"
"I did not approve of that action, believe me, but it was not wise to rush off so."
Ville folds her arms, "So what's the decision? Have you come to drag us back?"
"They can try…."
"No need for belligerency, my boy; I've advised them against it."
"And they just do whatever you say?" John asks rhetorically.
"They're discussing the issues involved."
Ville laughs. "That's as a good as a pass. They'll be deliberating…well, time is relative."
"You do pose rather a conundrum," Abbe offers charitably.
"At least I'm not willful," she jokes.
"Yeah, that's my job."
"Yes, I gathered. You realise they are watching you as well, yes?"
"I promise to listen to my Oma de Sala."