Title: Deliverance, Chapter 1 of 9
Rating: M
Warnings: None
Disclaimer:I don't own Stargate or its characters.

Comments: This story is loosely based on the episode "Critical Mass." Emphasis on "loosely." It's set somewhat before the canon episode. Some lines are taken directly from the episode and belong to the writers and producers. "Critical Mass" was written by Brad Wright & Carl Binder.

Deliverance

"General Landry?" queried Walter, sticking his head around the door of General Landry's office. He winced when he saw that the General had been reaching for the phone—Landry hated being interrupted when he was about to make a phone call. Of course, the General hated being interrupted at all, and Walter was usually the one who had to do it.

"Yes?" Landry grunted.

"Agent Barrett is here to see you; says it's urgent," Walter ventured.

"The NID thinks everything is urgent. Hell, if we're out of jello in the mess hall, it's urgent." Landry sighed and rubbed his hand across his forehead. "Fine. Send him in."

Walter backed away, thanking his lucky stars that he wasn't Barrett, and went to find Barrett waiting in the conference room. "The General will see you now," Walter informed him, and scuttled back to the control room.

"General Landry, thanks for seeing me." Barrett tried to keep his tone conversational. He was well aware the General wasn't happy to see him and would be even less happy after Landry heard what he had to say.

Landry scowled at Barrett. "This better be good. I was getting ready to make an important phone call to the Secretary of State. Get on with it."

Barrett jumped right in, happy to dispense with the small talk. "Sir, this morning we received intelligence from one of our operatives embedded in the Trust. He delivered this information at great personal danger to himself, but believed it was important enough to risk it."

Landry just lifted his eyebrows questioningly at Barrett, making it clear that he wasn't impressed yet.

Barrett plunged ahead. "Sir, this operative has discovered that the Goa'uld have infiltrated the highest levels of the Trust. In fact, we now know that they've reached such a high level of influence that they've been able to place a symbiote in key personnel attached to the SGC." He was cutting out all the extra information about how difficult it had been to acquire this information and the sacrifice involved, because knew Landry wanted him to cut to the chase.

Landry lowered his eyebrows, suddenly concerned. "How key of personnel are we talking about?"

"Well, sir, we're now positive that they have an operative in Atlantis." Barrett held his breath, hoping the General wouldn't take his shock out on him.

Landry was stunned into silence for a minute. "You're telling me there's a Goa'uld in Atlantis?" Barrett could see the storm clouds gathering on the General's brow. "Who is it?"

Barrett sighed. This was the part of the conversation he'd been dreading. "Sir, we don't actually know who it is. All we know is that member of the expedition is carrying a Goa'uld."

Landry stood from his desk, chair shooting away from him to crash into the wall behind. "What good is this information if we can't tell Atlantis who the infected person is?" he shouted, coming out from around his desk.

Barrett stood as well, trying to stay calm. "I realize that it's not a lot of information to go on, sir, but the NID thought it was important enough to warn the SGC as soon as possible."

Landry scowled again. "What exactly is this Goa'uld's objective in Atlantis?" he growled.

Barrett winced. "Um, well, we're not quite sure of that yet, sir. But we're definitely going to keep working on finding that information."

"You don't know who the Goa'uld is, you don't know why it's there... what do you know, Barrett?" the General roared, brows bristling.

"We thought it was at least worth warning Atlantis while we worked on gathering more intel, sir. I can assure you that we won't rest until we find more information," Barrett said earnestly.

Landry calmed down a little at that. "I suppose so. All right. We'll warn Atlantis, but I want a report from you soon with a lot more information. Don't disappoint me, Barrett," Landry grunted. He turned from Barrett to sit at his desk again.

Barrett hesitated, not sure if he should wait for further instructions. Landry glanced up at him. "What are you waiting for? Get that information!" he yelled.

Barrett retreated from the office quickly, taking a deep breath and loosening his tie a little. That had gone better than he'd expected.

.

000

.

Elizabeth Weir sat at her desk, busily working at her computer. At least she hoped that's how it appeared—she was playing solitaire, trying to pass the half hour before the day's check-in with the SGC. Playing solitaire always reminded her of the day Colonel Caldwell had come into her office and made that first overture of friendliness. They'd played chess and she'd been surprised by how genial and funny he was when he wasn't in full colonel-mode. She'd really enjoyed that first game—he'd beaten her but she'd definitely given him a run for his money.

But the following day John had been infected with the Iratus retrovirus, and Elizabeth had spent the week furious at Steven for his insensitivity in making sudden changes to the way John ran the base. She had warned Caldwell that he didn't want to be her enemy, and he had left a few days later to return to Earth.

Weeks later when the Daedalus had returned to Atlantis, Steven had come to her office his first night in the city to play chess. They didn't discuss what had happened the last time he was here, and Elizabeth had been relieved. She didn't really want to rehash it. Although he was an abrasive, hardened military man, he was always frank. She appreciated his candor—he never equivocated about his ambitions or methods and she had to respect that.

He had come again the next evening to play, and the next. She was surprised by how much of the time she spent laughing—Steven had a great sense of humor and a dry delivery that made her laugh until her stomach hurt, something she hadn't done much of since coming to Atlantis.

Steven had surprised her in many ways; when he wasn't on duty, the caustic sarcasm dropped away and he was just a normal guy, eager to talk about anything but work—news events, sports, even art. He was well-read and surprisingly open-minded, and Elizabeth began to sincerely enjoy his company and look forward to their evening chess matches.

And then she had had a particularly stressful day; Rodney was being bratty about the new paper work protocols and she had spent the entire morning doing mindless paperwork of her own, filling out the exhaustive forms the IOA demanded every week. She had still been toiling mindlessly when Steven had come that evening to play chess, and she had been full of relief and nearly giddy at the prospect of a few hours free from thoughts about work. They'd finished their second game, which she had won, and she had teased Steven about his "brilliant military strategy."

"I have a couple of micro brews I've been saving for a rough day. Would you like one?" she had offered impulsively.

"Sure," Caldwell had replied. "But don't think beer will distract me from winning this next match," he joked, then looked around the room. "Do you want me to get them?" he asked.

"Actually, they're in my quarters," Elizabeth had said quietly, her heart pounding a little at her brazenness.

"Oh." He'd fallen silent for a moment, looking down at the pad they'd been playing on. He looked up again, smiling, and replied, "Okay."

She had grinned back at him. "Alright. Let's go." She had stood and crossed to the door, but Steven cleared his throat and she turned to look at him.

"Maybe I'll meet you there in a few minutes," he had said quietly, looking up at her, and she could tell he was hoping she wouldn't misunderstand his reticence.

She smiled reassuringly. "I think that's a good idea," she had said softly, knowing that the need for discretion was important to them both.

True to his word, he had shown up a few moments after she was in her room, and she met him at the door with a beer. "Come in," she had said, smiling and trying to push down her sudden shyness, but he hadn't hesitated, just taken the beer and stepped right in.

They had played chess every night for the rest of the week, and she was pleased to realize that he had no expectations, no requirements; they were merely enjoying each other's company. They were both entirely committed to their careers, with no room for romantic relationships, but the need for some kind of personal interaction was still there and they could fulfill that for each other, no strings attached. They didn't discuss the nature of their relationship, and in public there was no indication of a change between them.

That last night before he returned to Earth, they were lying silently in her bed when he had suddenly asked, "So, where are we on the whole being enemies thing?"

She turned to him. "We're not enemies right now," she had said lightly.

"And in public?" he had queried, smiling.

"All bets are off," she said quietly.

"I can live with that," he had murmured.

Elizabeth sighed and dragged her mind back to the present. That had been over six weeks ago, and Caldwell had been back in Atlantis now for two days. He hadn't come for a chess match yet, but she knew he was busy and it didn't bother her. He'd been distant that first day, his greeting strictly professional, but that was what she wanted from him and what she knew he wanted from her. But she was looking forward to their next chess match.

The muted sounds of conversation filtered from the control room into her office and she realized it was time for the dial out. She stepped from her office into the control room, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears. "Okay, Chuck, dial the gate. Time to check in."

.

000

.

Dr. Weir strode into the conference room and immediately Ronon knew something was wrong. It was the set of her mouth and the way she held her shoulders that told him she had bad news. He always liked to get to the team meetings early—it gave him a chance to watch everyone come in and to observe their mood.

Most people thought of him as a forest tracker, the guy who could follow broken twigs and footprints anywhere. But being a good tracker wasn't necessarily about knowing what to look for—it was knowing how to look. Being observant was a skill you never stopped using, not if you wanted to survive. Body language and non-verbal signals could tell you more about someone's intentions than words ever could.

Lounging in his chair, arms crossed, Ronon checked out the rest of the team. Teyla looked tense, and was angling her head away from his side of the room. He wasn't sure what that was about, but he filed it away for future reference. Sheppard sat down with his relaxed, casual air that Ronon knew always masked a tightly coiled tension, and it was one of the reasons he respected Sheppard so much—it was hard to get the drop on him.

McKay was tapping away at his laptop, and Ronon knew he was speculating about the contents of this meeting, the theory he was developing about some indecipherable equation, and what he was going to eat for lunch, all at the same time.

Caldwell sat to Ronon's left. Ronon was having a hard time getting a read on him lately, but Caldwell seemed pretty straightforward today, military bearing and sarcastic smirk in place as he reclined in his chair, arms resting on the table.

"Okay, people, we have a bit of a situation," Weir announced from the head of the table, and all eyes turned to her. "We just had our check-in with the SGC, and we have an intelligence report from the NID that's a little disturbing."

Ronon saw Sheppard lean forward almost imperceptibly in his chair, and figured that Weir hadn't had time to brief him before the meeting. Teyla finally turned her head toward the front of the room, but her arm was tense as she rested it on the table.

"An Agent Barrett from the NID has reported some surprising information to General Landry, and the General thought it was important we receive it as soon as possible," Weir continued. "Apparently the Goa'uld have gained more influence in government agencies than previously thought." She took a deep breath, looking down at her laptop, and Ronon waited for the other shoe to drop. "A member of the Atlantis expedition has been taken over by a parasite. There is a Goa'uld in Atlantis."

The room became hushed and Ronon surmised that this was information was shocking in some way, but he didn't really know what Weir was talking about.

"What's a Goa'uld?" he asked. He understood more of the ins and outs of the SGC than he let on, but this was a new one to him.

"It's a slimy, snaky alien creature that burrows into people's heads and takes control of their bodies," Sheppard explained flatly, and turned to Dr. Weir. "So who's the Goa'uld?"

Dr. Weir looked down again at the computer in front of her and Ronon saw an expression of frustration flit across her face, although he didn't think it had anything to do with Sheppard. She looked back up and stated evenly, "We don't know which member of the expedition has been infected."

Sheppard leaned forward in irritation, scowling. "Well, then what good is the information except to freak us out? There are hundreds of people in the city and we can't put every one of them under a scanner right now." He was clearly irritated.

Weir sighed, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I know. There's not a lot of information to go on here. General Landry assured us that the NID is doing their best to gather more useful intelligence and that they will keep us updated, but he wanted to give us this initial report as a warning."

"So what are your plans for addressing this threat? What, if anything, can we do with so little to go on?" Caldwell spoke quietly, and Ronon thought he seemed pretty calm about the whole situation.

"Can't we just pinpoint this person's location using the Ancient alien detector in the control room?" Sheppard asked.

"We could, if they were your run-of-the-mill Pegasus alien. But the Goa'uld are parasites," McKay broke in impatiently.

"Are you saying you can't pick up small aliens?" Sheppard was sarcastic.

McKay rolled his eyes. "I'm saying that if the detector was calibrated to that level of sensitivity, it would pick up every tapeworm, bedbug, and tick that came through the gate, and the glut of information would be useless."

Sheppard made a disgusted face that almost made Ronon laugh. "You could've just said 'other parasites.' You didn't have to be so specific," Sheppard muttered.

"Yes, yes, yes, you're grossed out. Moving on." McKay cleared his throat. "I could have tried to fiddle around with the Ancient life signs detector to see if I could calibrate it to search for Goa'uld," he frowned. "But in order to do that, I'd need more specific data on Goa'uld physiology. The SGC should have thought of that when they were sending their uber-helpful warning," he said, smugly disappointed.

"Actually, they did send along the medical specs they have on the Goa'uld," Weir responded patiently.

"They did? Oh." McKay looked surprised, then placated. "I suppose I could throw something together, then. It might take awhile... the calculations would be very complex." He hesitated. "Zelenka hasn't gotten around to examining the device thoroughly yet," he finished. Ronon suppressed a smile at how McKay had, as usual, managed to shift any sort of blame to someone else.

"And I will get started on interviews with the members of the expedition," Weir stated.

"What, you're going to interview every single person in the city?" Caldwell countered caustically. "That might take a few weeks, and I'm not sure how effective that would be."

"Yeah, that hasn't worked so well in the past," Sheppard said almost inaudibly, and glanced sideways at Teyla, who returned his gaze briefly then turned back to Elizabeth with the smooth expression Ronon recognized as the face Teyla used to hide her thoughts, and he wondered what that was all about.

Elizabeth looked away from Teyla with what Ronon thought might be a tinge of embarrassment and sighed. "At this point, we don't have a lot of options. Colonel Caldwell and Colonel Sheppard, I would like you to organize the interviews for those under your command and submit a schedule to me as soon as possible. I will draw up a schedule for the civilians." She looked up at the group. "The only thing we can do for the moment is to keep our eyes open for any unusual behavior from members of the expedition."

Ronon looked down at his leg, picking at the laces that hung from the belt. He wondered idly if his old taskmaster Kell had had one of these snakes in his head. Ronon wished he had—it would have made the betrayal easier to understand. He sighed and hauled himself up out of the chair, shaking his head to rid his mind of pointless speculation about the past. He tried to look forward to the moment when he would get to shoot this snake thing, whoever it was.

.

000

.

"Charin," called Teyla warmly as she crossed from the tent entrance to embrace her elderly friend, hugging her close and thinking not for the first time that she may not have very many hugs such as these left. She reveled in the feel of Charin's arms around her and the flowery smell of Charin's soap, a scent that she remembered from childhood.

"Teyla," uttered Charin. "It is good to see you." The older woman smiled broadly at her, and Teyla was happy to see that she appeared energetic and healthy.

"You remember my friend, Dr. Carson Beckett?" Teyla gestured to Carson as he entered the tent.

"Of course. Welcome, Dr. Beckett," said Charin warmly. "It is good to see you again. We can never repay the kindness you have done to our people."

"It's my pleasure, Charin. Your people have been very good to us, as well," Carson smiled at her, crossing the room to pat her hand. "You seem to be feeling well," he remarked to the older woman.

Charin's eyes slid to Teyla and she smiled knowingly. "Yes, I am doing well, Dr. Beckett. You need not worry about me. Perhaps you would like to join us for some tuttleroot soup?"

"Charin, please call me Carson. And I'm afraid I'll have to pass on the lovely offer of soup. I just ate lunch in Atlantis and I'm off to examine a few of my patients." Carson stepped to the entrance of the tent and glanced back. "I'll be back for you in about an hour, Teyla."

"Thank you, Carson. I will be ready," replied Teyla, nodding. She watched as the doctor left and turned to Charin to see the old woman grin and shake her head. Teyla knew she had been caught.

"Teyla, I am not so old as to be fooled by Carson's 'casual' visit," Charin chuckled over at Teyla from where she stood at the work table. She moved around the table, bowls of steaming soup in her wrinkled hands, and came to sit next to Teyla on the broad wooden bench where she was perched.

Teyla grinned sheepishly. "Charin, I merely asked him to check on you and see that you looked healthy. And you are, for which I am grateful," she added, taking the bowl from Charin's hand.

"I appreciate your concern for me, Teyla. But I am doing quite well. I have recovered from my bout of sickness and I am feeling energetic," Charin replied gently.

"Very well," commented Teyla, smiling. "Let us discuss more pleasant topics. How is the harvest?" She took her first spoonful of soup and savored the taste—no one made tuttleroot soup like Charin's.

They spent the rest of their meal discussing the latest Athosian gossip, and Teyla regaled Charin with stories of her team members and the efforts of the Earth expedition to protect the people of Pegasus. Trying to soak in every moment she had with her friend, Teyla sat with her shoulder touching Charin's—these times with Charin were so very precious to her. Teyla endeavored to visit Charin as often as possible; she was the closest thing Teyla had to family. She dreaded the day when the older woman would go to join the Ancestors and leave her alone, with no family.

Finally Charin rose from the bench and began to clean up the remnants of their meal. "Let me do that," urged Teyla. "Sit here and tell me more news of my people." Teyla busied herself, wiping up crumbs and cleaning out their bowls, relieved to have something to occupy her hands.

"Teyla, I wish to hear more from you about how you are faring," said Charin insistently.

"I told you of our missions and events in the city," Teyla reminded her. "Do you wish to hear more of the other worlds I have visited recently?"

"No, I wish to hear about you, Teyla. What is in your heart? Do you miss your people? Do you feel lonely in Atlantis?" Charin spoke softly, eyes lifted to search Teyla's face.

Teyla's hands stilled and she looked down at them, noticing the calluses that had already built up from carrying the Earth weapons. "I do miss my people. It is sometimes difficult to be the only Athosian amidst a city of people all from the same world. Of course with the exception of Ronon; he has been a great comfort to me," Teyla responded quietly.

"And do you have feelings for this Ronon?" asked Charin, teasingly.

Teyla looked up and grinned faintly at her friend. "No, Charin, I do not feel toward Ronon in that way. He is like a brother to me." She shifted uncomfortably, not sure of the direction in which the conversation was going.

"Come, Teyla, I have known you all your life. I helped your father raise you after your mother was gone. Surely you can speak to me of these matters... indulge an old woman's whim." Charin smiled up at Teyla appealingly from where she sat on the bench.

Teyla relaxed and returned Charin's smile. "Of course," she replied, and moved around the table, sitting astride the bench to face Charin. Charin had been as a grandmother to her, and Teyla knew there was nothing too personal for her to share with her old friend.

"Then you do not have someone special in your life?" queried Charin, eyebrows raised in concern.

.

TBC