A/N: Well, hopefully, this is a good old-fashioned adventure fic. Spoilers possible for anything up to and including McKay and Mrs. Miller. As always, I will also refer back to my own stories. It's a gen team fic so enjoy!

Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis and anything associated with it is not mine. If it was…oh the possibilities.

Xerigor

Prologue: In the Middle Of…

Even with the palm trees surrounding him, the humid, furnace-like heat surprised him. Florida at the end of September was just as hot as Florida in the middle of August. He shut everything down as a young lieutenant jogged over to his side of the bird shouting over the residual rotor wash.

"Captain Sheppard! This way sir!" The lieutenant held his salute while holding the cockpit door open.

Sheppard finished his shut down routine and returned the salute as he exited the craft. He looked at the planted palms and scraggly pines while he tried to keep from wilting in the heat radiating off the asphalt. He prayed for a breeze and did not receive a single breath. The stifling heat created droplets of sweat that trickled and tickled their way down his back and chest. The flight suit stuck to him in all the wrong places and he wriggled- hopefully unseen- to loosen those areas afflicted.

The heat also restricted his breathing. He coughed and for a brief instant saw a dusty, annoyed and worried face staring at him. He closed his eyes to get rid of the apparition only to nearly bump into the back of the young lieutenant. The young man did not seem to notice the near miss as he directed Sheppard into a wonderfully cold office building. The sudden change in temperature sent shivers up and down his spine and he reveled in the sensation. For a brief moment, he thought that this was heaven.

"That's more like it," he whispered with a relieved grin. John Gorrie was a superhero and a saint to those living in the South. He was a man to be revered, especially in Florida, where shorts were the norm at Christmas.

"Yes sir, ninety-eight degrees in the shade today," the young man chuckled. "Welcome to Pensacola, sir."

Sheppard gave a light chuckle in return and removed his sunglasses. The inside of the building looked like any other facility built in the forties, fifties, sixties or seventies: Terrazzo tiled floors and green walls. The windows were covered in metal blinds and the desks were metal and Formica. He guessed the designers decided not to mess with institutional perfection and stayed the course through all sorts of fads like shag carpeting and avocado appliances. Of course, upgrades had been made. Computers were on every desk, the telephones were not rotary, and indoor plumbing had been introduced.

Lt. Quinn-- the young man finally introduced himself after Sheppard asked for the second time what his name was-- led him past guards and offices and more offices until they stopped in front a door labeled with the name, Gen. Ronald Koch, USAF. Quinn knocked, went in, and announced to an adjutant sitting behind one of the small institutional desks, "Capt. John Sheppard to see Gen. Koch." He pronounced it like Cook and waited stiffly for an answer.

The adjutant nodded and picked up a phone. "Capt. Sheppard is here." He paused and gave the go ahead nod. "Go on in, they're waiting."

They. Sheppard had no idea, clue or inkling why he was sweating in the North Florida heat-- or--Why he was ordered to fly down from D.C. -- or-- Why "they" were waiting just for him. The door opened and an unexpected hot wind blew into his face.

"Sheppard, you need to get up!"

He shook the general's hand.

"That's it, Sheppard! Upsy-daisy!"

The general returned the shake while the incongruous demand wafted through an open window. The command and the encouragement were from a highly annoyed, yet familiar voice. Confused, Sheppard stared at Gen. Koch whose eyes shined unnaturally blue, neon blue if he had to put a name to it. The humidity from outside and the air-conditioning made him shiver and cough one more time. His breathing labored in the thick air and sapped the strength from his very bones. He excused himself and closed his eyes trying to catch his breath.

"No, no, no! Damn it Sheppard! Stop lying around and help me! Teylaaa!"

The General introduced the other man in the room. "This is Col. Daniel Newton of the United States Army- but don't hold that against him." His mischievous tone disappeared with the next statement. "We have a proposition for you, Captain."

The door shut behind him. The click sounded so final, principal's office final.

"We have a mission for you and the colonel is going to lead it."

"Ronon, Teyla's down too!" The out-of-place voice intruded and split his attention between the here and now and the then and there. He was not sure which was which, but grass tickled his face and the office suddenly smelled like dirt. A charcoal knee swam into view for a second and he tried to remember why that knee was so important.

"Ronon! They got 'em! Those Civil War re-enactors shot 'em both!"

And then, the all important knee was gone and the office windows filtered sunlight into the cold room. The colonel held out his hand and grinned. "Good to meet you Capt. Sheppard. I have a feeling we're going to get along great."

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