Title: "Tin Man"
Rating: PG
Warning: None
Genre: Gen, Drama, H/C
Characters: Rodney, John, Teyla, Ronon, OCs.
Word Count: 30,000-
Summary: Visiting an abandoned outpost leads to some amazing discoveries but with dire consequences. Rodney and the team battle a racing clock as they begin to lose Sheppard a little at a time.
Written for : friendshipper for the secret santa exchange. Prompt at the end.
Rodney ran a second diagnostic on the sensors, trusting his overly paranoid sense of self-preservation would keep them from being fried. He scanned the bulging dark orange sun only a mere million miles away, studying the bustling photosphere.
"We in danger of becoming Jiffy Pop?"
"Yes, we are. In fact, I brought butter and salt. Do you prefer Kosher or the Celtic Sea variety?" He heard Sheppard mumbled something about caramel flavored, but he ignored him. "I'm monitoring the sunspots near the equator, but so far, the magnetic fields are within acceptable levels."
Teyla leaned over to study his laptop. "And you do not believe these flares will begin again?"
"Oh, they're still producing energy, just not enough to interfere with our equipment." At the crease in her forehead, he flipped around his screen. "Sun flares can last for days, months, or years. In this case, there's no way of knowing how long they've been active. The corona is highly volatile because this star is in the process of becoming a red giant."
"When's that?" Ronon grunted from the back, the first time he had ceased impersonating a plank of wood in the last three hours.
"Give or take ten or twenty thousand years."
Ronon made a harrumphing noise and went back to doing…whatever…he did on long boring flights.
"Are these flares in a lull?" Teyla continued.
"In the last twenty days since we received the communication signal, this sun's been producing B-class flares. Just your everyday low levels of radiation." Rodney finished arrowing down on the keyboard toward the last report. "After Lorne discovered our mysterious transmission on his way back from...wherever…I searched the Ancient database and found bupkis on this solar system. But...geomagnetic storms are always unpredictable."
"What he's trying to say is that he doesn't know, but we're going to check things out on the very good chance that the sun's in a down cycle," Sheppard piped up.
"You might want to return that physics degree you got from Crackerjack's when we get back to Atlantis."
"I spent a long time collecting those box tops," Sheppard drawled, bringing up the HUD. "ETA to the planet is ten minutes. All systems are still operational, no random outages or massive catastrophes...yet."
"Thanks for daring the galaxy to prove you wrong."
Rodney took a final scan of the mystifying signal. It was fascinating really. How long had it been transmitting? It was broadcasting on an odd low-level frequency wave, and the use of a long-range communication device was evidence of a technologically advanced society. No bear skins or mud huts this time around—barring the equipment wasn't a piece of tech thought to be an antenna to the Gods or something, or there wasn't an inane ritual, ceremony, or dance that needed to be performed to be granted access to study it.
He gazed at the distant sun, envying his teammates unawareness of its awesome power. They had no clue that the atmosphere was heating plasma to tens of millions of kelvins and accelerating electrons, protons, and ions to near the speed of light. It was awesome and scary as shit. All that resulting radiation across the electromagnetic spectrum could increase the ionization of the orbiting planet below, screw up communications, and damage all of their electronics.
In other words, this was a recipe for disaster and everything would be hefted onto his shoulders to pull their asses out of the fire if things went pear-shaped. Grabbing a power-bar, he started munching to stock up on brain energy.
"Honing in on the signal," Sheppard reported. "Well, waddya know? There appears to be a building hanging out on the surface." Throwing an accusing look in Rodney's direction, he adjusted their course. "Guess sensors are being more affected than we thought."
"Weren't we searching for something to begin with? Besides, hello. Hard X-rays. Just because the solar flares are producing low levels of interference doesn't mean they couldn't be wreaking havoc on our scans. A sun's got a lot of spunk."
"Spunk? Really, McKay?" Sheppard began their decent and navigated toward a small mountain. "We'll just find a comfy little spot and settle down. Hopefully, there won't be any more surprises."
Knowing that last jab was made at his expense, Rodney ran another scan, because hidden alien bases pinged on his 'be prepared for anything' radar. Apparently, it perked Ronon right up because he was leaning forward to peer out the windshield. They skirted close to the surface as John did a visual fly-by over kilometers of barren purple rock with scattered shades of rusty red. Rodney's computer confirmed large deposits of hematite and quartz, and an atmosphere composed of higher concentrations of CO2, although the air was still suitable for breathing.
"Just another inhospitable place. Think we should pick out a corner lot?" he asked to a few eye-rolls.
"Are there any life signs?" Teyla asked.
"I'm not showing anything," Sheppard answered and nodded at Rodney. "You?"
"Nothing. Maybe it's an automated signal." Of course Rodney had uttered those words before and had them bite him in the ass.
"Well, we are explorers, so let's explore." Sheppard landed on a flat stretch of nothing, powered down the jumper, and proceeded to check the safety of all his weapons. "Cautiously, of course."
"Why doesn't that fill my heart with confidence?" Rodney tugged on the tether to his P-90 and packed his tablet into his rucksack. Eyes glued to his LSD, he whistled as he disembarked down the ramp. "Wow, according to these readings this place is huge. As in hanger bay huge. We're looking at the equivalent of an underground complex the size of a football stadium."
"American or European?" Sheppard smirked.
Rodney didn't encourage his humor any further by acknowledging it. "This way. I found the source of the signal." Glancing up, he realized the foothill of the mountain swallowed up all evidence of a facility, except for the large garage door looking thing. Boots crunching beneath their feet, they made it to the front of a thick layer of steel covered by inches of oxidation.
Staring at the mammoth entrance, John quirked an eyebrow at the alien keypad and what appeared to be a note with the combination of symbols needed to open it. "This is new," he commented, fingers punching in the code and watching in shock when the massive door began opening with a groan.
"All that's missing is a welcome sign." Rodney studied his LSD. "Still no life signs."
Ronon twirled his blaster. "Doesn't mean anything."
Teyla eased it down, back toward the holster. "Let's not invite any hostility."
Shrugging, Ronon kept the holster strap unfastened.
"Alright, kids. Let's investigate." John switched on the light attached to his weapon and everyone followed behind him. "Maybe we'll find a factory filled with ZMPs that need adoption."
"Or maybe we'll stumble across a factory of T-1000s waiting to kill us."
"Ever the optimist, McKay."
Flashlight rays refracted off their misty clouds of breath, and Rodney's shoulders shook from the biting cold. "There is a power source in here; I'm just having problems finding the exact location."
"Good, maybe we can find a way to kick on the furnace." Sheppard's light bobbled off walls in tandem with his own shivers, the beam illuminating an upcoming intersection. "I'm not seeing any breadcrumbs to follow. Any guesses?"
"No more of that Mini Mighty Moe stuff," Ronon growled.
"We took a right in that cavern on M2P-167," Teyla suggested.
"Isn't that when we ran into that pack of giant dogs?" Ronon asked.
"I do not believe so." Teyla studied their choice in direction. "I think we discovered that litter of wawas on M2P-167. They were very cute."
"Were those the neon blue rabbit things?" Sheppard stared about uselessly like a blind mole. "Could use something that glowed in the dark right about now."
"Yes, that was them," she smiled.
"Those horrible demon dogs were the size of small horses and it was M3P-191 where they terrorized us," Rodney corrected. "Remember? They chased everyone up those old petrified trees and Sheppard almost got his foot chewed off."
"Ruined a good pair of boots," Sheppard mumbled. "We'll go right again. See where that takes us. Hopefully, McKay can see if we get farther away or closer to whatever is keeping that Radio Free Europe going."
Shaking his head at their glorious team leader's tactical decision making for scouting out places, Rodney adjusted the perimeters of his LSD. "Huh...I'm reading a much larger power source here. More than enough to keep a—"
Ronon held up a fist and they all stilled and searched for signs of trouble. The big man cocked his head, weapon pointing in the darkness. "Something's coming."
"Something?" Rodney whispered. With a .45 in one hand, his eyes flicked toward the blank LSD screen in the other. "Still got nada."
"Doesn't matter," Ronon warned, angling toward the sound only he could hear.
Sheppard and Teyla's weapons snapped in the same direction as Ronon's. Rodney swore his heart pounded louder than anything in an Edger Allen Poe novel. After several painful beats, he heard a set of footsteps approach. Whatever was making them wasn't trying to hide their loud, rhythmic gait.
A person morphed out of the darkness, and as he got closer, a 'whoa' escaped Rodney's lips. The rest of his team tensed as the taller-than-Ronon figure was bathed by three sets of light. Rodney's weapon became slippery in his palm and he tightened his grip, swallowing at the...the thing.
Steel blue octagonal metallic plates covered the chest, smaller ones across both arms and legs. Its neck stuck out several inches and turned like a pivot. While the body was humanoid enough, the head was black and oblong, lacking ears or a defined chin. The face was an LED screen with circular eyes and a mouth of hundreds of dots curving into a glowing smile.
It walked like a human, knee and hips joints bending with the soft hiss of hydraulics, mechanical arms out in a semblance of welcome. "I am Ten. How are you today?"
Sheppard kept his P-90 trained on their metallic host. He stared at it with the same unease he would an Asgard or a cosmic killer clown. Trading looks with Teyla and Ronon, he then glanced at Rodney for an opinion.
What did he want him to magically do? Determine if this was an evil Cylon or Twinkie from Buck Rogers with a magical decoder ring?
Rodney shrugged and Sheppard grudgingly lowered his gun, signaling the rest of them to do the same. "Hi. We're uh...all fine. I'm Colonel Sheppard. This is my team, Ronon, Teyla, and Dr. McKay."
It made long steady eye contact when each of their names was called. "Very pleased to meet you."
The human quality of the voice was flawless except for a slight harmonic reverb. Over a com, it could be mistaken for someone who spoke English as a second language.
Rodney couldn't decide if they'd just hit the technology lottery or entered the set of 2001: A Space Odyssey. "What did you say your name was again?"
"I am Ten."
"Ten?" Rodney repeated, incredulous. "Like in Doctor Who?"
Sheppard stifled a cough and Ten blinked rapidly. "I am unfamiliar with Unit Doctor Who."
Large coils twisted out of the rear of its head and lead into his back, along what would be a human spinal cord. Similar thinner wires snaked out of his neck and slipped under the large chest plate. McKay was awed by the paradox of its sleek dark blue metal body and the Disney-like animated face.
"Well, Ten, it's nice to meet you, too." Sheppard couldn't have faked his enthusiasm more if he tried, though it was doubtful the android was aware of it. "Are there anymore of you around?"
"I am the only one." Ten stepped closer, towering over Sheppard by several head lengths, and stared curiously down on him. "I have been waiting for you to arrive."
"Us specifically?" Sheppard waited for an answer. The android's eyes flickered again, but it didn't verbally respond. "Are you responsible for the communication signal?"
"Yes," it answered without further explanation.
Teyla approached the metal giant as if dealing with a confused child. "Are you in need of something? Supplies or another type of assistance?"
"Yes!" it answered animatedly. "I would like to provide assistance." Waving excitedly for them to follow, Ten turned and began walking. "Follow me."
Keeping his voice low, Sheppard whispered, "Am I the only one detecting a screw loose?"
"It does not appear to be a replicator," Teyla offered.
"Does it matter?"
Nodding, Sheppard agreed with Ronon. "Based on our spectacular past history with AIs, let's proceed with caution. McKay, keep scanning. I want to know the minute anything hinky comes up."
"Right. Sprawling mysterious base bombarded by solar flares. Home of an advanced android that I could spend a lifetime studying, who happens to be named after a sci-fi icon and who needs a few tweaks to its personality program. I'll just..." Rodney waved his LSD. "Keep an eye out for anything hinky."
"Glad we're on the same page," Sheppard said, taking point.
Their host led them to a room stacked with towering equipment that reached to the peak of the ten-meter ceiling. Quickly scanning for harmful radiation or any other abnormal frequencies, Rodney breathed in relief that he still had a slim chance of bearing children.
This was the hub of all the android's activity, with rows of consoles and display screens all monitoring the solar system and the star that threatened to swallow it up in a burst of energy.
In the middle of the stuffed pack-rat room, Rodney watched the android watch them. Perhaps the whole constant staring thing should have pinged hinky, but his mind was filled with paradigms.
How was its artificial neural network set up? Similar to the Bayesian model perhaps? No, that used the expectation maximization algorithm. Maybe the Markov version, since that used filters for prediction during continuous streams of data.
Ohhh, did it simulate natural intelligence or use the elegance of logic and sub-symbolic processing?
"You're drooling, McKay."
"What?"
Sheppard smirked and Rodney snapped out of his analytical daze.
"He is not salivating," Ten stated, then stared at Sheppard. "But you were not speaking of fact."
"No, it was just...you know? An expression."
"A symbolic use of words," it stated.
"Exactly," Sheppard smiled.
"Yes, I know of these."
"Fascinating," Rodney mumbled. "I'm curious. You're not a replicator—our scanners would have picked up on any nanites—so you're mostly mechanical, probably using a kinematic chain for range of motion. How are your actuators, um, your muscles powered? Electrical, chemical, or is it some hybrid of—"
"Actually, we were wondering about the signal that drew us here," Sheppard interrupted, shooting Rodney a save it for later expression. "You mentioned waiting for us to arrive."
Ten rotated its head side to side at them both.
Yeah, definitely using a sophisticated motor.
"I built the beacon to bring others here."
"Why?" Ronon asked bluntly. "What do you want?"
"To help."
Rodney eagerly bounced on his heels. "With what?"
"Whatever is needed. I am programmed to perform any task required. To fulfill the purpose of my designers."
Rodney didn't know if he should spontaneously combust or break into song as he clamped his jaw shut before it fell to the floor.
"This is fascinating," Rodney said for the sixth time. "According to these readings, the core of this system's sun has begun the process of fusing hydrogen and converting it into helium." Rolling his hand as he spoke he looked up at the gathered team. "Basically, it's at the beginning stages of collapse, raising its internal temperature and producing all those high level solar flares."
"And?"
Rodney learned long ago not to roll his eyes in front of Ronon; instead he pulled himself away from years' worth of data. "It means that this signal has been broadcasting for possibly tens of thousands of years and the bombardment of hard X-rays degraded it to where it was undetectable beyond this solar system." Turning to glance at the android, he cleared his throat. "I need more time for a more accurate calculation, but I suspect that our friend here has been fruitlessly phoning home for a long time."
It was a bit unnerving to be speaking of someone or something while it stood there listening.
"So, what you're saying is that this andr—that Ten has been here twiddling his thumbs since perhaps the time of the Ancients?" Sheppard concluded.
Teyla's face softened, her empathy obviously lost on the intended subject. Ronon simply looked bored.
"Give or take." Now if only he could find a central database and download the rest of those elusive answers to his tablet.
As if the idea of being in a room with a machine that could easily kill them all wasn't tense enough, said android went from stillness to motion with a hydraulic hiss, causing them all to reach for their weapons.
Heedless of everyone's reactions, Ten walked right past them. "It is time to feed Fur."
It walked gracefully despite mechanical joints supporting hundreds of kilograms. They all followed the technological wonder as it entered an adjoining room filled with heavy-duty green plastic cargo boxes. Lifting open the lid of the nearest one, Ten used a scoop to rummage through a mulch of grains and other foodstuff.
"Looks tasty," Sheppard commented.
"It is organic matter that fulfills Fur's nutritional needs." Ten poured the contents into a bowl then pumped water out of a barrel and into a second dish.
They all flinched at a high-pitched shrilling noise that passed for a whistle.
A blob of shaggy brown hair and floppy ears darted out of another room, its hind legs clacking loudly, and ran right into the wall. With a quick shake of its head, the animal bounded over toward dinner.
Teyla squatted to her haunches with a goofy grin. "Is this your pet?"
The dots of Ten's mouth doubled into an idiotic smile.
Rodney could barely contain his excitement. Not only could it key in on facial cues, but it knew how to reciprocate in kind!
"Fur is my companion."
Rodney contemplated breaking into a happy dance at those words, but he still valued his dignity.
"And this little guy didn't appear on the life sign's detector?" Sheppard hissed.
There was nothing like a bucket of ice water. "He's what? The size of a cat? With all the—"
"Do not worry for your secondaries' safety," Ten addressed Sheppard. "Fur is the only biological unit living here."
"My secondaries?"
"You are the primary, correct?" Ten inquired. "The other Units follow your command."
Snapping his fingers, Rodney got everyone's attention. "It's monitoring our tells. Facial expressions, body language, vocal inflection. We're like an open book!" Staring at Ronon and Sheppard, he cleared his throat. "Okay, perhaps more like a blank manuscript and a coloring book."
"You were saying something about this place being abandoned?" Sheppard asked. "Before we commence with the whole helping thing, I'd love to have a look around, you know, just to be sure."
"I will get the mover."
Bending down and opening its massive hands, Ten gave two short ear-piercing whistles and the ball of shaggy pelt bounced off the wall again before skittering across the floor into the android's palms. Tucking the animal against its side, the android disappeared down the hall in three quick hissing strides.
"Did you see that?" Rodney beamed. "I bet it can reach speeds of forty-five kilometers per hour."
Sheppard adjusted the strap of his P-90. "I'm more worried about it returning and deciding we should all be assimilated."
The facility was an encompassing place of nothing. Each empty room was like opening a Christmas present, and instead of getting a cool new toy, it was socks and underwear. They sat on a little flatbed car similar to those annoying vehicles used at airports, Ten driving them around with Fur in his lap.
"It might have been easier for him to tell us nothing was here," Teyla observed as they rode through another empty chamber.
"But there used to be." Flipping on his light, Sheppard guided it over the floor. "There are cables that line all four walls. This room's got to be forty by forty. That's a lot of wire."
"And look at the ceiling," Rodney observed. "It's been gutted. There used to be a lot of equipment in here."
"The last six rooms have all been similarly stripped. Bolts in the floor, tons of empty electrical outlets. This outpost used to be a big operation of some sort." Sheppard scanned the darkness. "There must've been an evacuation, and those living here took everything but the kitchen sink." Staring at the back of Ten's head, he amended. "Almost everything."
What was that old saying? Always save the best for last. McKay's eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets and Sheppard jumped out of their ride before it came to a stop. Ronon looked suitably impressed, which was saying a lot, and Teyla's eyebrows curved into arches.
"Can we get more light?" Sheppard called out, his voice echoing.
"No need to jog!" Rodney yelled, feet pounding to catch up.
Giddy as a teenager at prom, Sheppard circled the first ship, tracing his fingers over the front windshield. The craft was Ancient in origin; there was no mistaking the metallic alloy and the flow of lines and angles of the design. And unlike the boxy aspects of the jumper, the forward section and stern were narrower. Glider-wings replaced the drive-pods and the whole body was a dark steely black.
Damn was it sexy.
Sheppard couldn't keep his hands off it, playing with the small tail. "I bet this is even more maneuverable than the jumper, possibly faster. It's not meant for transportation, the cockpit and rear compartment are too small."
"It looks meaner," Rodney remarked.
"Oh, no," John grinned, petting the ship with all the reverence of a prized thoroughbred. "She's a beauty."
Ten stood next to Ronon, dwarfing him. "It is a fighter ship."
Sheppard might have imploded in sheer glee. It was hard to tell. Ten smiled.
"Is it operational?" Please, please, say yes, Rodney prayed.
"I do not know. It requires an interface that I do not obtain."
Oh my God, they'd just won the final round of Jeopardy.
Clapping his hands, Sheppard spun around, a glint in his eye. "I think it's time we discuss that whole helping thing."
"If I may, Colonel," Teyla spoke aloud, her body shivering. "Before we begin a dialogue, perhaps we should ask Ten to turn up the heat?"
The key to getting answers with a machine programmed by logic algorithms was asking direct questions. It was perfect: no commentary, no arguing, just information. Rodney could get used that. Ten was the ultimate wellspring of knowledge, willing and able to answer whatever he wanted to know.
The facility ran off solar power, but the star's activity degraded all outgoing communication signals. Environmental controls were a novelty when your exterior was composed of metal and wire and not flesh and blood.
The outpost had been a black-market research facility during the war between the Wraith and Ancients. A fringe group of scientists and ex-military used the space to manufacture weapons and other pieces of technology. The Ancients created the replicators so it wasn't unheard of that other groups might have made strides in robotics and artificial intelligence. When the star entered the first phase of becoming a red giant, all the radiation compromised the equipment and the researchers were forced to evacuate, taking everything with them.
"Why were you left behind?" Sheppard asked, nibbling on granola bar.
"The designers manufactured Eleven through Twenty-One. Each model was more advanced than my mine. There was only room for them."
"They couldn't fit one more robot?" Ronon challenged.
"There were weight constrictions," Ten answered.
Teyla listened, eying the fluffy animal playing at the android's large oval-shaped feet. "What happened?"
"I was set to standby mode with One through Nine, and we were connected to the mainframe. There was enough power to run our maintenance routines so that we could be reactivated if the designers returned. There was a surge; it overloaded my systems, triggering a reboot."
"And your buddies?" Ten stared at Sheppard and the colonel amended. "Your fellow droids."
"They were unrepairable. The biological matter of their neural networks was destroyed and the electrical surge overloaded their primary systems."
"Wait a minute. Your AI is part organic? That's incredible!" Rodney didn't know where to begin. "Where we come from that approach was abandoned years ago. All our current research's been focused on statistics and signal processing. Your artificial neurons, are they—"
"About those fighter ships," Sheppard interrupted, only caring about things that blew up or went really fast, and steering the conversation back toward those shiny new toys. "Is there any way we could poke around them? We might have the interface you lack to get them running again."
Nothing got the ball rolling on a risky venture like the mention of Ancient fighter ships. Woolsey gave his stamp of approval on the expanded mission under certain conditions, and considering the upcoming docket of missions, the possibility of having new firepower might have the added benefit of expediting things on diplomatic fronts as well. John gave the assembled search teams their instructions, pinning a grid map onto a bulletin board in the middle of their 'control center.'
Before committing time and personnel to this outpost, they were going to damn well ensure its security. Once the place was swept and they confirmed there wasn't an army of robots or a secret underground bunker of hidden bodies, then he'd deem things clear for engineers and researchers to arrive.
Nose buried in his tablet, paying no attention to where he was going, Rodney almost bumped into him. "Be careful where you're standing."
"I'll try not to be in the way next time," John drawled.
"A good rule of thumb. Hey, why aren't you out there sniffing around with the other bloodhounds?"
"Because I've got four mixed units of military and civilians, and I don't want to be on the far end of the facility if I'm needed." He did a quick radio check with the other teams and caught his teammate staring at him. "What?"
"You just don't want to be away from your precious," Rodney teased with a bad Golem impression.
"The other two ships are in pretty bad shape with severe hull damage. One even has the right wing sheared off. They've seen some hellish fights, but that first one..." he couldn't help the smile. "She's mighty fine."
"Be sure to wear protection when you go on the first date with her."
"Just in case you haven't noticed during our six-month absence, the Wraith are in some kind of civil war, the coalition's not faring any better with their own power struggles, and suddenly we have allies who don't trust one another because of a series of attacks from an unknown group."
"Oh, I forgot all about that. Silly me."
John released a suffering sigh. Everyone was wound pretty tight. There were about half a dozen treaties hinging on the success of their upcoming mission to M2P-263. A simple signing and toast could slowly turn the tide. If they brokered an alliance with the Goft, then they would gain favor with the Tenniki and so on and so forth.
McKay waved a hand in front of John's face. "You're zoning out again."
"All I'm saying is a fighter ship or two would be an extra show of force and an easier way to demonstrate to our antsy allies that we can take care of those new raiders who've been terrorizing people of late."
"Because the puddle jumpers are such yesterday's model."
It was bad enough leaving Pegasus without warning, but during their absence, political chaos had boiled over, and in the meantime, a heavily armed set of thugs had started terrorizing worlds.
Irritated, he glanced at the whiteboard, searching the list of teams for a certain physicist's name. "Didn't I assign you to Teyla's team?"
"Nope, I told you not to," McKay smiled smugly. "I've been busy discussing cybernetics with our host."
McKay only reached these levels of enthusiasm when a new Marvel movie came out or Jennie sent him a package of Jamaican Blue coffee. John didn't get it. "You're one of the foremost experts on the replicators. Hell, you built Fran. Isn't Ten a bit low-tech for you?"
"Are you kidding me? Metropolis, THX1138, The Iron Giant—"
"C-3PO."
McKay rolled his eyes, his voice almost reminiscent. "We're talking about my childhood dreams. Not the perfection of replicators and their 'we're better than humans' attitude, but a real-life android. It's like I'm standing at the crossroads between the likes of Robbie the Robot and Data."
John was surprised by his friend's candor. Like himself, McKay was a door not a window to his personal life, especially anything to do with childhood memories or fascinations. "Calm down. I know whatcha mean." He smiled. "It does look kind of like something out of the Iron Man comic books."
"Are you kidding me? First off, Iron Man wasn't blue and he didn't have an LED screen for a face."
Sighing, John shook his head. "Did you happen to learn anything new about—"
"Hold that thought." Rodney tapped his ear piece. "Yeah?...Okay. Seriously? For the love of...alright. I'll meet you there." Eyes blazing, he shook his head. "Zelenka tripped over something and hurt his knee. They need me to replace him."
Before John could utter 'go', Rodney shuffled off to meet up with Team Three. Doing a quick scan of assignments, John erased Radek's name off the whiteboard and scribbled in McKay's.
Soft hissing joints and the sound of metal on concrete announced the android's arrival. It was like a video game come to life with its sleek body armor and wires. John kept waiting for it to pull out a giant raygun. The eyes and mouth, bright lights against the black computer screen, appeared to be 3-D. Sheppard verified the two marines following Ten around were hanging out a few meters away before he acknowledged the android with a nod.
"Unit Sheppard," it spoke.
"Just Sheppard."
Hundreds of tiny dots formed a brilliant U shape at him. John didn't know what to make of it yet. Ten had invited their teams to inspect the whole facility and continued offering to help in any capacity, including allowing them to repair the fighter ships and keeping them if they worked. It had a pet for heaven's sake, one it carried around with him all the time like a baby.
The animal's face and ears were covered by braids of shaggy brown hair. John saw its little pink tongue dart out from time to time, but it seemed content where the android held it against its chest, waving a paw at one of the wires around the android's neck. He cleared his throat. "I'm curious. You said you've been living here all alone for some time. Thousands of years."
"Yes."
"Where'd ya get Fur?"
"From Fur's mother unit."
He'd forgotten about going with the direct approach. "We calibrated our sensors and they detect Fur, but no other life forms. Is he the last one?"
"Yes," it nodded. "Fur's mother and father units are no longer functioning."
In other words, dead. But there was something nagging John. "And you got them from...?"
"The designers had animal companions. They left six with me. Fur was produced from their units."
John had a hard time fathoming that little nugget. "You've been inbreeding your pets this whole time?" Ten titled its head downward, extending its neck a few inches, eyes blinking on and off like a strobe. John knew it was trying to understand his question, so he went with a yes-or-no statement. "All of your pets have been produced from the previous ones?"
"Yes." Its head straightened and tilted to the side in a humanesque manner. "Do you feel this is in error?"
"No." Crap. How did John explain this? "I mean, it happens in the wild all the time. But using the same you know... same family… over and over again—I'm not a scientist, but doesn't that cause medical problems?"
Ten stroked his companion's fuzzy head with fingers that could easily crush its skull. "Yes. Degradation of the immunological system, respiratory system, and heart function. Deformity of the..."
John tuned out all the health issues, not really wanting the whole inventory. Ten might've gone on all day if he didn't interrupt. "And Fur?"
It put the little guy down, and it was the first time John had noticed the animal's mechanical back legs, tiny wires disappearing into its coat. "I have repaired the spinal, digestive, and autonomic malfunctions. His higher brain routines were inoperable, but I help with all of his needs."
John was both impressed and sickly horrified. Mainly horrified.
For the first time, Ten's mouth became a flat line of light, his normally circular eyes almond shaped. "Why does this upset you?"
He was walking down a tricky moral path. Knowing that the android monitored his facial expression, John smiled. "If Fur is happy, I'm sure that's good enough."
Ten stared at him, eyes flashing, then scooped up his pet with one quick motion, the android stood to its full imposing height. "You are not engaged in an active task. Do you wish to inspect the inside of the fighter ship some more?"
A rush of adrenaline spiked through him. Teams weren't scheduled for a check-in for another thirty minutes and John had his radio. "Hell, yeah."
His preliminary examination of the interior had been brief but enough to warrant their investigation. Any pilot worth his wings could tell quite a bit about a ship from the outside and a scan of the cockpit, but he'd been jonesing for a more thorough review of the flight instruments and onboard computers.
Ten waited for John, his furry buddy curled in a ball in one hand, and easily forced open the three-hundred pound hatch. The ship was without power and John entered, feeling around with his hands toward the forward compartment.
Two bright beams illuminated the rest of the way for him, and with a quick backward glance, John noticed two spotlights that came out of the clavicle area of the android. "Thanks."
Keeping its head ducked so it wouldn't smack the ceiling, Ten followed behind and stood right outside the cockpit where it would have a hard time fitting easily. "Are you a pilot of many ships?"
Sliding into a leather seat that felt tailor made for him, John curled his hands around the yoke. "You could say that."
"And this is your primary function?"
"One of them, but it's the one I love the most." Smiling, he rubbed his fingers across the panel, studying the dormant screens and the extra control panels, imagining all the cool shit they might control. "I can't wait to see her powered up."
"Her?"
He cast a glance over his shoulder. "Figure of speech."
"I have reviewed the mechanics of flight, but I have not been in any type of orbit."
"Really?" John turned around in his seat. "Well, if we can get this bird operational, I'll take you up with me."
"You will?"
"Of course." John shook his head, appalled. "Studying until your eyes bleed is still nothing compared to the real thing. Trust me."
His radio squawked in his ear and John taped his com, the words static. "Col- can you-r'd-us...we've...g..it..."
"Come again, over," John responded. Getting the same gobbledygook, he spoke over the muffled voice. "You're breaking up. Give me a second. I might be somewhere with interference."
He stood quickly, the abrupt action spooking Fur. All John saw was the animal leaping away from Ten with a high-pitched squeal. John tried side stepping the pet and Ten tried grabbing the frazzled critter with its giant hands, his mounted spotlights blinding John.
It was a comedy of errors, because John zigged when he should have zagged and he lost his balance or tripped or something. All he knew was the sharp pain of his temple cracking against the side of the ship and the ringing in his ears.
Rodney came running when he heard the frantic bursts of panic over the radio. It'd only been twenty minutes since he'd talked to Sheppard. Teyla was ahead, outpacing him in ridiculous fashion. They weren't far from the hanger, and by the time they both arrived, he spotted Sheppard seemingly in tact and busy keeping a team of marines at bay.
"Like I said, false alarm," Sheppard said, waving for them to stand down. "There was a mishap and I hit my head."
Teyla took Sheppard's elbow and led him toward a chair, the large android hovering close by to the dismay of the antsy jarheads. "Are you alright, John?" she asked, running her hands through his hair and pausing when he winced. "Sorry."
"I'm fine. We were inside the ship, and when I stood too quickly, it scared the fuzz ball. I tripped over a few things and smacked my skull." Glaring at the marines, he added, "It was my own fault."
Clattering feet signaled Ronon's arrival, gun in hand. Several more marines followed.
"Would everyone just calm down?" Sheppard implored and rubbed at his head. "Please."
"Would you try not to brain yourself the moment I turn my back on you?" Rodney demanded.
"Everyone get back to your search grid." When no one moved, Sheppard growled, "Now."
Those without the capability of individual thought complied. Sheppard's team did not.
"Are you sure you do not need to be examined? Dr. Fowler is here. She could—"
"I'm good," Sheppard assured Teyla. "I just smacked my head."
"In which time your brain could have swollen up to the size of a balloon," Rodney huffed, arms crossed in front of him.
"Then you can pop it," Sheppard challenged.
"If you keel over, you owe me dessert for a week."
"If I keel over, it won't matter. But if makes you feel better, I'll have Fowler check me out."
Rodney didn't have a snappy retort and stared up at Ten's big, glowing blue eyes. "If you think this is an example of normal human behavior, just erase this from memory, because it's not."
After five hours of poking through empty rooms and verifying that not even tumbleweeds were present, Rodney finally plopped down in the folding chair and nearly toppled over. "Oh, for crying out..."
"Are you alright?" Teyla asked as she pulled her ponytail free.
Adjusting how his ass sat in the chair, he settled his tablet on the card table and peeled away the wrapper of his MRE. "Fine, if you call this lawn chair a real piece of furniture. The manufacture is probably subsidized by chiropractors."
Sliding in the chair next to him, Teyla pondered the dinner selection and grabbed the third MRE. "Shouldn't you take a short break? Certainly, you are tired after our search."
Spreading a layer of cherry jelly on his cracker, he took a giant bite and dusted the crumbs from his keyboard. "Walking aimlessly around an abandoned outpost doesn't require much thought."
"Maybe I'll sign you up for double duty on the next shift."
"Oh, please." Rodney peered up at Sheppard as he straddled the chair across from him. "My multitasking skills run circles around anything you throw at me. But," he held up a finger, "I don't think you want to spend the next thousands years here, so may I suggest you leave me off the next round of scut duty so I can properly analyze the solar activity before we all become permanent guests."
"And what's the possibility of that happening?" Sheppard demanded.
Tabbing down at the latest data, he shrugged. "Won't know until I utilize Ten's equipment. Unless I take a jumper out to do a scan."
Tearing into the MRE, Sheppard waved a fork at him. "You just want a chance to dig around that lab."
"Maybe. But you have your toys, I have mine. Besides, anything I gleam from here can only help us in the future."
"You have a point," Sheppard agreed, plowing his fork into the instant mashed potatoes.
Ronon grabbed the remaining chair, scraping the legs across the floor, and flashed him a smile when Rodney glared at him. Snagging two MREs, he started digging in without further comment. A working dinner was nothing new; Rodney solved some of his toughest problem when simultaneously refueling his brain. Although if he wanted true peace and quiet, joining in a team meal wasn't a suitable environment.
"Where is Ten?" Teyla broke the silence that had settled.
"He mentioned feeding Fur." Sheppard shoveled more food into his mouth and proceeded to answer despite the fact. "I sent one of the marines to keep an eye on him just in case."
Sipping a bottle of water, Teyla licked away a drop from her bottom lip. "You do not trust him?"
"There are many levels of trust." Sheppard pushed his meal away, slouching back in his chair in a way that shouldn't be possible. "Do I think he's going to kill us all? No. But I prefer being cautious. I'd rather go slowly. Knowing what he's been doing for thousands of years would be helpful."
There was a loud clearing of the throat and Rodney looked up to see the team staring back at him. Damn, he hated when that happened. "What?"
"You have spent the most time with him."
Hitting save, Rodney closed down his work to glare at Sheppard. "Honestly, it's not the easiest thing in the world to pry specific information from him. Once he starts talking on a subject, it's hard to get him steered back to a single one."
Ronon smirked. "Sounds a lot like you."
"You're a laugh riot." Inspecting his choice of fruit, Rodney popped a grape into his mouth. Sourness overwhelmed taste buds and he spat it out. Wiping his lips with a napkin, he felt an air of impatience boil up around him. "I don't know much. He cleans a lot."
"Cleans?"
"Yes, Colonel. A very foreign concept for a guy who throws everything in a closet in his quarters."
"Stop breaking into my room."
Rodney resisted throwing the rest of his grapes at the man. "There's not a single layer of dust in this entire outpost. Actually, this whole place is pretty hypoallergenic."
"McKay."
"The water table of this planet is hundreds of kilometers down," Rodney explained. "He's constructed a number of drilling platforms to tap it, but without the proper diamond drill bits, it takes months to reach the needed levels. The repair and maintenance is unimaginable."
"To keep his pets alive?" Ronon asked unconvinced.
"Impressive, huh?"
Because really? Did anyone understand the scope of such accomplishments? Rodney had a hard time fathoming it himself.
"That is very," Teyla searched for the right word, "dedicated."
"All part of his programming," Rodney rebuked quickly. "He was built like most machines—to serve his creators."
"Fur isn't his creator," she pointed out.
"No, but the fuzz bucket is his responsibility, and keeping an animal alive here takes immense problem solving," Rodney found himself defending. "Not to mention all the data he's gathered on the solar system. He's explored and mapped out this entire hemisphere. He even terraformed the land to grow food. Again, for his pets over the years."
Ronon snagged Sheppard's leftovers. "That's it?"
"Well, I'm not sure."
Teyla shook her head at Rodney. "I could not imagine living in such solitude. Perhaps being a machine is a blessing."
"Yeah, and I thought being stuck in a jumper for two weeks was a nightmare." If only Rodney could scrub those memories from his brain.
"You had other people there," Ronon reminded him. "I once went six months without talking to another human." The big guy rarely stared off into space, his food-laden fork hovering in midair. "It bothered me a lot for a while. Then the few times I ventured out toward a population long enough to speak to anyone, the Wraith would cull that town. So, I avoided them at all costs."
Rodney didn't know what words to use at a time like this. Thank goodness Teyla did.
"That must have been very lonely."
Ronon shrugged, snapping out of his reverie. "It kept people alive. You get used to it." Teyla squeezed his hand, the big man smiled at her gesture of kindness.
"When I was little, there were many times where I was separated from my family, not more than a few days at a time during hunting or long travels. When Michael took my people, I felt incredibly isolated. Even though I was surrounded by my team and those on Atlantis, it was like I was trapped."
"When I was exiled to Siberia, I was forced to work with people who only spoke Russian," Rodney growled indignantly. "Of course, when they screwed things up, which was more often than not, suddenly they spoke fluent English when they came begging me for help." No wonder working on the chair in the Antarctic had been like a vacation compared to his previous accommodations.
With the wet wool blanket draped over them all, Rodney wasn't about to let Sheppard off the hook. "Let me guess, McMurdo was the lowest pit of loneliness for you?"
"No," Sheppard drawled, obviously not in the mood to discuss it.
"Seriously? What's lonelier than being a taxi service for a bunch of geeks?" Rodney pressed.
"I..." Sheppard scowled. "It was..."
Rodney hated the need for the dramatic. "Are you sure you don't have a head injury? How many fingers am I holding up?" he questioned, thrusting his hand in front of Sheppard's face.
"Forget it," the man growled.
"No, no, no. We all had show and tell. It's only fair that you share."
"You're right. It was McMurdo. The place sucked." Standing, Sheppard pushed in his chair. "I have to check in with the security patrols, then I'm getting some shut-eye 'till 0400 when Lorne takes over."
Sheppard was barely out of earshot before Teyla gave Rodney the look that caused both fear and guilt. "You should not have pushed the subject."
"Come on. I know Sheppard safeguards his past like he does gate codes, but it doesn't mean he can't try on occasion."
Okay, now Ronon was giving him the same damn look.
With dinner finished, everyone got up to do their own thing, leaving Rodney the choice of catching up with Colonel Sulk or going another round of twenty questions with the walking technological miracle.
The quest for knowledge was too strong. He'd show up at Sheppard's quarters with a beer and the two of them could kill a few hours playing Star Craft when they got back to Atlantis.
The astronomic instruments were an impressive smorgasbord of other alien technologies and Ancient tech. Deeks of archeology would be all about getting his greedy mitts on this stuff, but he'd have to wait—like in never. The data wasn't promising; the sun's photosphere was giving off B6 to C1 waves and seriously threatening the timetable of the mission.
Speaking of, after a few hours of the discussion of neural pathways, his companion was quietly pecking away at a counsel.
"What are you doing?"
Without turning, Ten replied, "I am writing."
"Really?" Curious, he wandered over and glanced at the overhead screen, staring with disbelief. "Is that poetry?"
"Yes."
"Huh." Creativity wasn't something one could program.
Pivoting its oblong head around, bright blue eyes shrunk to marbles before growing back to normal. "Would you give your opinion?"
No, no, no, Rodney wasn't a fan of art. "Poems are not my thing. Got a failing grade for my haiku, but I had mad limerick skills that my professor found no appreciation for." Ten smiled blankly, waiting, and Rodney clucked his tongue against his teeth. "Alright then. Let's see what we've got here."
The room is empty
I stand inside
It is not
I stand outside
Nothing
I stand
Fur enters
I stand
The room is not empty
Fur leaves
I stand
I stand
In the room
I stand
—Ten
"Well...um...technically it's fine."
"Can you quantify your opinion?"
Rodney would rather play one of Ronon's sadistic Satedan games. "As in give it a score out of one to five?"
"One to one thousand would be a more beneficial assessment."
Ya think? "Um, sure. I mean…I'm not a literary expert and academics weren't ever my thing."
Producing a filament out of the tip of its finger, Ten inserted the wire connection into the console. "I will produce the first hundred for your review."
Gulping, Rodney stared at the screen. "The first hundred?"
The astronomical console started beeping and Rodney nearly ran into Ten in his hurry to get over there. His first thought was thank goodness, saved by the bell. Then he studied the readouts and scrambled for his radio.
Sheppard rounded the corner, weapon at the ready, screeching to a halt before he collided with the rest of his expecting team. Ronon waited for their team leader to finish catching his breath from his sprint across the outpost. "Gonna tell us what's wrong now?"
Rodney didn't beat around the bush. "We have to evacuate."
"What? Why?" Sheppard demanded, lowering his P-90 and looking all the world like he needed a nap.
"I don't have time to teach a course on the physics of solar flares," Rodney snapped in exasperation. "Look. According to all indications, we're about to experience X-class waves and we need to be long gone before that happens."
"But there were only B-class ones when we arrived," Teyla pointed out.
"Yes, yes, but didn't I say such activity is unpredictable?" Rodney countered. "I'm thinking this little window for our visit is much smaller than first estimated."
"You don't say?" Sheppard growled. "What type of danger are we in?"
Thank goodness he'd never considered teaching, because Rodney didn't have the patience for questions. "This system's sun started producing C-class waves, which are going to make navigating the jumper tricky, but I'm sure Colonel 'I Can Fly Anything' won't sweat it. The real crisis is that we're a couple of days away from experiencing M-class waves, and according to the data I started reviewing, this solar system has been bombarded by X-class waves for the last few decades. We're definitely in a lull to another giant buildup."
"I'm guessing those are bad?"
Rodney didn't take Sheppard's sarcastic bait. "Each class has a peak flux ten times greater than the preceding one. An M2 flare is twice as powerful as an M1 flare and four times more powerful than a C5 flare. You do the math. We're talking about peak fluxes at 10 to the fourth power. Get it?"
His typical lackadaisical approach to life aside, Sheppard was no dummy. The man was thirty credit hours away from a PhD in Aeronautics, a fact Rodney found out by accident when he was bored one day.
The colonel mentally shifted gears, and all previous signs of tiredness vanished as he spoke. "I'll start an evac of our people. You said we're not in immediate danger?"
"No, this isn't our usual run for our lives with three minutes left. A star doesn't work that way. We safely have around thirty-six hours, but anything over would be pushing it."
Nodding, Sheppard looked longingly at the hanger bay. "Could we get one of the fighter ships operational by then?
"Are you certifiable?" Rodney's voice jumped an octave. "No, not even with full crews working night and day. We don't even know the first thing that's wrong with them."
"The Daedalus," Teyla spoke. "She was supposed to return to Earth two days ago, but it was delayed."
Snapping his fingers, Rodney beamed. "You're a genius."
"Our engineers could transport her into the hanger bay," Sheppard grinned. "Caldwell's gonna love landing on the surface."
"Will we be able to join you?"
The question caught them all off guard, and they turned toward the android, Fur's tail happily tapping against one of Ten's giant octangular chest plates.
"Um...maybe we should call a time-out?" Sheppard suggested. "Perhaps you could double-check McKay's calculations about our time frame?"
"Hey?" Rodney squawked.
"I already—"
"A triple check would be useful in this situation," Sheppard told the android.
"I will go over them one more time," Ten replied.
It was the first time Rodney had ever seen the android's mouth in a lax smile.
Sheppard watched Ten leave, waiting for the hissing hydraulics to fade to nothing before addressing the team, eyes falling specifically on Rodney. "There's no way he can come with us."
"Why? Do you know the advances we could make with—"
"He's a security risk."
God, why was the man so damn logical the one time Rodney wanted him to ignore reason. "You've completed a threat assessment, certainly—"
"A partial threat assessment for our direction here. Not as a guest on Atlantis."
"Will you stop interrupting me? Thank you." Sheppard glared and Rodney lifted his chin in defiance. "It's not like he's gonna go all Terminator on us."
"All what?"
"Please," Rodney scoffed at Sheppard's confused expression. "I know you think he's about to bust out an I'll be back."
Sheppard bristled. "I have no idea what you're—"
"He's not a replicator," Rodney implored.
Sensing the growing tension in the air, Teyla turned to Rodney. "You said he was programmed to help humans?"
"Yes."
"Could he have a directive that prevents him from harming anyone?"
She had a valid question, one he wished he could guarantee a hundred percent. "I don't know. I'd have to study his programming code and it's much less sophisticated than the replicators, not to mention that his brain is constructed with organic matter which only—"
"The fact of the matter is..." Sheppard paused sheepishly at cutting Rodney off again. "We simply don't have time to analyze this."
"We're just going to leave him for another thousand years? Perhaps he'll grow a rock garden to talk to since his genetically degraded pet's lifespan is probably at, hmm, let me see..."
"Look, McKay. I feel sorry for it."
"We have been calling him a he for the last day now," Teyla interjected and looked to their silent teammate for his thoughts.
Ronon shrugged. "Don't ask me. I don't trust computers."
Rodney knew Sheppard was being all military, but deep inside, he had a soft spot for sob stories. Ten might be nothing but a machine to the colonel, but even Sheppard hated the idea of leaving the android behind in a virtual prison for possibly years. "Don't you think we could use his expertise in getting that fighter ship running? Even you said that having those around would help reinforce our prowess." He had him hooked. Sheppard was avoiding eye contact. "Didn't you promise you'd take him up in the air? You said something about it over breakfast."
He felt dirty at stooping so low, but Sheppard faltered and Rodney could smell the sweet taste of victory. "It would be like Luke taking R2 up for a ride."
"Don't push your luck."
"I'm not pushing anything," he replied innocently.
Rodney had Sheppard at checkmate. He just didn't know it yet.
Advising Woolsey and Caldwell of their current predicament and need of assistance didn't require too much arm wrestling, especially when John used every opportunity to mention the words Ancient fighter ships. The Daedalus did an extraction and their engineers gladly handled the equipment transfer. The whole taking on an additional passenger required a lot more convincing, and he stuck McKay on the com to bludgeon them into submission.
Seven hours later, his teams and said fighter ships were safely on board, as was one android and his furry pal. Ten was under guard and John safely avoided the bridge, away from Caldwell's scowl. Granted, they were the same rank now after John's promotion a few months ago on Earth, but that didn't change the fact that a colonel of his ship was forced to taxi their asses and a potential threat back to Atlantis.
His and McKay's post-mission check up was completed first so they could have a private discussion with Woolsey before the regular debriefing, ruining John's hopes of a clean getaway to the mess hall, a shower, then his bed. All in that order.
McKay fidgeted next to him, and a headache that had been slowly gnawing away at the back of his skull decided to dig its feet in. "You can sit you know," he hissed at him.
"You're standing," McKay hissed back.
"Because if I sit down, I might not get up again." John had never gotten his scheduled shut-eye at the outpost before the countdown to killer solar rays had begun.
"I hate these types of summons," McKay complained. "Reminds me of being hauled to the principal's office."
"Since when were you ever sent to the principal's?"
"Hello? I almost blew up my high school chem lab. I was technically in middle school, but Timmy Foster dared me to—"
John quirked an eyebrow. "You blew up a lab?"
"I said almost," McKay wagged his finger. "There's a difference. And don't tell me that you didn't see your fair share of the principal during your pre-fly boy days. I bet you were a real hell-raiser."
He quirked the ends of his lips. "Maybe." John frowned because he'd done some really stupid crap in school, but he couldn't think past his headache of a single story to top McKay's.
His musings were interrupted by Woolsey's entrance. Their boss rounded his desk and leaned back in his leather chair before resting his gaze on them. "So, explain to me again why we have a seven foot android in our jumper bay."
Having anticipated security concerns, John had worked out protocols with McKay during their ride on the Daedalus. Ten was under constant guard and confined to an area of the jumper bay locked behind a giant electromagnetic field that could short out the android's systems if he walked past it, while allowing him to work on the fighter ships with the engineers until further notice. Add in a tracking device and a gentle reminder that Todd had once been a guest, and they'd been dismissed along with a preliminary report due in the morning.
Having freshly showered, John pulled on some sweats and a fresh t-shirt. Feeling drained but not ready for bed quite yet, he grabbed a beer from his mini-fridge and snagged his laptop, adjusting his pillow to lean against it. Powering his computer on, he moused over his favorite movie files, trying to decide what to veg out to. He paused on the most viewed queue, his eyes glossing over.
Top Gun
Speed
Star Wars
Terminator
Die Hard
Spiderman
Enter the Dragon
Gladiator
Hard Boiled
Aliens
Men in Black
The Matrix
After staring blankly at his collection, he cursed McKay for screwing around with his computer. He didn't recognize half the movies there and he wasn't in any mood for practical jokes.
Closing his eyes, he rolled the mouse around and clicked on Aliens to see if it was any good.
Sleeping in was a rare occurrence, but there wasn't a mission on the docket and there'd been a six-hour lag between Atlantis and the outpost. He missed his run with Ronon, cruising through the mess for a late breakfast and swallowing his oatmeal and waffles while reading over the previous night's security reports.
He still had to type up something for Woolsey, then join Lorne later to review the marine captain rotations and assign personnel for the fighter ship detail to match up with the science departments. And ugh. They had to make headway on their strategy for locating the raider groups. Once that stupid treaty was signed this week, it would lay the groundwork for getting eyes and ears on the ground.
But first, it was time to get his ass kicked, or in other words, spar with Ronon. He'd promised to undergo more conditioning since their return to Pegasus seven months ago, and John was already behind on the aggressive regiment. Getting his clothes together to work-out, he paused, kneading a sudden band of tension at his temples.
Drawing a deep breath, he made a quick trip to his medicine cabinet for a few aspirin as the pain grew worse.
Ronon was warming up when John entered the gym. Of course Ronon's version of loosening muscles was beating on a heavy bag. Stretching, John began a few calisthenics to get the blood pumping, shedding his surroundings to get into the proper zone to spar.
Bending his left leg on the bench, he momentary flashed to another gym reeking of sweat and dirty socks and a large man with a high and tight yelling at him.
"Hey, Sheppard?"
Snapping out of it, John found Ronon shaking his shoulder. "You okay?"
"Yeah, fine. Just got lost for a second."
Stepping back, Ronon gave him the once over and handed John a banto's stick. "You need to focus."
Accepting the stick, John rolled his shoulders and followed Ronon to the mat. "No problem."
He really should have listened.
"I thought you said you could walk?"
Ronon's words rang his bell and John shook his eyes open to find himself tilting sideways within the man's grip. John's arm was wrapped over the other man's broad shoulder and they made a great impression of two drunks lurching down the hall.
"I can walk," John growled, his head killing him.
"You're not doing a good job of it."
They were almost to the infirmary and John didn't recall leaving the gym or entering the transporter.
A nurse greeted them and took John's other arm without asking. "What happened?" She directed her question at Ronon.
"Sparring accident. He didn't duck."
"I did too," John defended, recalling how the stick had skipped across his temple now that the cobwebs were clearing.
"Not fast enough," Ronon countered, moving out of the way.
Amy—Amanda?—ushered him to sit on an exam table. She was a few years older than him with dyed strawberry blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. He couldn't recall her name with all of the recent transfers as she tilted his head to study the area above his right eye.
Sounding motherly, she said, "You've got a nasty goose egg, Colonel."
She then proceeded with a neurological exam that he had memorized.
Yes, she was holding three fingers. No, he wasn't dizzy. Yes, he did lose a few minutes of time. And yes, the penlight hurt his vision!
Smiling, she shook her head in amusement at his efficient answers. "Alright, you know the next drill. Date of birth?"
"June 14th, 1970."
"Your name."
"Colonel John Sheppard."
"What's the capitol of the United States?"
"D.C."
"What was your first car?"
"What?" he asked, perplexed.
Peering up from her PDA, the nurse looked at him speculatively through her wire-rimmed glasses. "What was the first car you ever owned?"
"What kind of question is that?"
"One for patients who have this exercise memorized." She frowned at him for the first time. "Can you answer the question, Colonel?"
John stared off in the distance, mind racing.
"Colonel?"
What the hell was it? Not Dad's Classic '77 Porsche or the beamer. It was black… no, blue. Shaking his head and wincing at the pain, John muttered, "I don't remember."
Jennifer scanned through her notes on Colonel Sheppard's baseline neurological evaluation. Sipping at her cold cup of coffee, she pulled up the results of his most recent post mission checkup, searching for any anomalies or issues. Sighing, she noticed a small notation about an accident on board a non-moving craft, that Doctor Fowler had given an all clear on site.
Walking over, she pulled aside the curtain and smiled at the colonel as he sat there on the bed, kicking his feet in a classic sign of nervous energy. "Morning, Colonel."
"Doc."
Ronon hovered in the corner, practically vibrating with tension. The current incident in question was a result from a sparring accident, and she nodded at him. "If you don't mind, I need to conduct my exam."
"I'll let you know if I need backup," Sheppard reassured his teammate.
Ronon stalked away without a word, and Jennifer pulled out a penlight, checking his pupils, pleased to find them equal and reactive. "How did this happen?"
"Ronon clobbered me."
Jennifer moved over the examination light, adjusting it to get a better view of a knot forming at his temple. "Do you remember anything before that?"
"I cracked him across the knuckles. Must've pissed him off," was his reply.
Returning the light back into place, she stepped back. "And what happened after you got struck in the head?"
He gave her one of his sheepish smiles. "That part's fuzzy. I got hit and then I was in the hallway."
About two or three minutes loss of conciseness, Jennifer mentally filed away. "And do you remember the name of the nurse who cared for you?"
"Since we returned, I haven't gotten the names of everyone here, Doc."
Jennifer didn't mark that against him. Pulling out a stool she took a seat in front of him, ignoring the colonel's chuckle. "I know you went through this earlier, but just humor me. What is your father's name?"
"Patrick."
"Your mother's?"
"Martha."
"What did you have for breakfast?"
"Oatmeal and waffles, but they had the nerve to be out of blueberry," he joked, kicking his feet again.
"Where did we go for your birthday on Earth?" Jennifer asked, mixing things up. After all, she'd been there.
He smiled fondly. "The Medieval Times dinner show."
"What was the name of your first pet?"
The smile vanished.
Jennifer remained calm and relaxed. "Was it a cat or a dog?"
"It was..." Sheppard clenched his jaw, brow furrowing. "Come on, John," he muttered to himself. "It was…" And he shook his head. "Damn it!"
"It's okay," she soothed, trying to keep him focused. "Do you know your rank?"
"Colonel. Full bird." He lifted his chin proudly.
"And who was the first military commander of Atlantis?"
"Colonel Sumner."
"And when did you take over command?"
Sheppard gripped the edge of the bed with both hands. "It was...after we first arrived. After..." he fixed her with a hard stare. "What happened?"
Keeping her voice even, Jennifer never broke eye contact. "He was killed in the line of duty. You took over the next day."
He nodded but it was half-hearted. She gave his wrist a squeeze, noting the uptick in his pulse. "We're going to get you taken care of. See what's going on."
"Think this is some type of concussion?"
There was a desperate hope to his voice, because anything else was an unknown to him.
"I don't know yet," she answered honestly. "There's a good chance it is. I'm going to get you under the scanner and conduct a few more tests, see where that takes us."
Ronon was waiting for them behind the curtain, guilt and anger written all over his face.
"Perhaps you could keep the colonel company in between tests?" Jennifer suggested.
"He doesn't have to," Sheppard commented.
"I'm not going anywhere," Ronon answered, giving his a friend a you can't make me stare.
There was no doubting him and Jennifer left to find Dr. Kertesz.
Four hours of pouring over data had her eyes crossing and fingers clenched around another cup of coffee. No sooner has she rubbed away the tensions at her temples did her office door slam open, Rodney steamrolling inside.
"Were you just going to wait until dinner to tell me, oh by the way, Sheppard's been admitted to the infirmary?"
"The answer is no, because he hasn't been officially yet. And is there any point in telling you he was here undergoing tests when I don't have any answers?"
"What's wrong with him?"
Jennifer leaned back in the chair, the polar opposite to Rodney's pacing. "I don't know. That's why I didn't call you."
"Ronon and Teyla told me he has some type of memory loss. Sheppard's been knocked in the head a few times before and hasn't ever suffered memory loss as a result." Jennifer opened her mouth to disagree, being she was the colonel's physician, but Rodney bowled right over any rebuke. "And that's not counting the times he's forgotten who he was for a day or two off-world. Because he's always bounced back."
"Rodney, take a deep breath before you hyperventilate. As of now, all we know is that Colonel Sheppard is missing a few occurrences and we're working very hard on the cause."
"Is it retrograde amnesia?" he asked fearfully.
"Sit," she ordered, unable to stand the dread in his eyes.
For the first time since he barreled in, Rodney actually obeyed and slumped in the chair. "I'm sorry. I was up all night talking to Ten about his visual sensor array and I forgot to eat dinner, unless you call those cupcakes you left in my lab food. And then I was on my way to breakfast, which happened to be lunch, and I ran into Teyla."
Pulling out an apple she was saving for later, Jennifer shoved it into his hands. "Eat this and don't talk. Listen." Verifying she had his attention, Jennifer went on. "We've run a head CT and an MRI and have ruled out any type of brain injury or trauma. After the colonel has completed a full neurological exam with Dr. Kertesz, I'll consult his opinion and we'll go from there."
"So, it's not a concussion?"
"No. I said there was no obvious signs of bleeds or tears in the brain. His memory loss is sporadic, but it's all long term, which rules out most major types of amnesia." Her answers weren't alleviating his agitation and Jennifer regretted not being able to calm him.
"He smacked his head in some incident during our last mission. Could it be that he's just been hit two times in succession?"
"Secondary concussive syndrome is on my list."
His eyes got real big and he switched to his default defense mechanism when faced with stressful situations. "I told him that his brains was going to swell up like a balloon!"
Moving closer, she kneaded his neck. "Ever since your experience with Second Childhood last year you've been very...sensitive to this stuff."
"Oh, no. Have you—"
"I've ruled out the parasite you were infected with and Kirsan Fever, including any variations that we know of," Jennifer reassured him.
Rodney rose to his feet and she planted her hands firmly on his shoulders. "Look. I know how much you hate not being in control of things, but you're going to have to do something you're not very good at. And that's be patient."
"Right. I'll just go run a diagnostic on the city's plumbing," he replied flippantly.
"Just because your expertise doesn't involve medicine doesn't mean you can't help. If anyone knows what the colonel is going through, it's you."
Jennifer watched him deflate, wishing she had a magic wand to make everything better.
"You know I'm good at fixing things with my brain not with...you know..."
"Words?" Jennifer ruffled his hair. "Yeah, but this time, why not give it a shot?"
They had Sheppard in the back of the infirmary, but Rodney had tuned out the reasons why. The colonel sat in a chair dressed in scrubs, trying not to look like a man quietly freaking out while Ronon and Teyla kept him occupied with small talk.
"What did Keller say?" Ronon demanded.
"Nothing useful. Did the other quack mention anything relative?" Rodney countered, taking a seat on the bed.
"No," Sheppard answered. "He asked me a million questions and scribbled in his notebook."
"And?" Rodney prodded.
"And what?" Sheppard snapped. "Seems I have more holes in my memory than a piece of Swiss cheese."
"But you remember us," Teyla stated. "You remember Atlantis and your duties."
"But not my first girlfriend or my favorite music...among other things," Sheppard muttered and looked away.
"Those don't matter," Ronon challenged.
"Yeah?" Sheppard growled. "And how long before I forget how to shoot a gun or fly a jumper?"
A nurse and two male techs moved aside the curtain and hesitantly wheeled a machine inside. "Colonel, are you ready?" the older nurse asked.
"Do I have a choice?" Sheppard sighed, running a hand through his hair. Resigning himself to his fate, he nodded to Rodney to get off the bed. "You want me here?" he asked them.
"Yes, Colonel. This is an EEG machine, we're going to attach a dozen leads to your head, and all you just have to do is sit back and relax," one of the burly techs instructed way too cheerfully.
"Relax, huh?"
Watching Sheppard being forced to lie still while court jesters wired him up like Medusa wasn't exactly a laugh a minute. Each lead took an excruciatingly long time to attach with all that hair in the way, while Sheppard pretended it didn't bother him.
One of the nurses came over, opening up the curtain wide in a none too subtle gesture. "I'm sorry, but the colonel can't be distracted during the monitoring. We need to record a complete cycle of alpha, beta, and delta waves."
"You honestly think he can fall asleep like that?"
"He will eventually Dr. McKay. Until then, Dr. Kertesz would like all three of you to fill out a questionnaire."
After taking their fill-in-the-blank quiz, Rodney snuck back to Sheppard's fabric-draped cubicle and froze outside the curtain. The lights were dimmed and his friend's head was obscured by a spider web of wires like something out of a horror movie. My God, was that how he'd appeared last year, skull swallowed up by machinery?
"Stop staring."
"What? Oh, no, I was..." Rodney hurried inside, ensuring the curtain was closed. "I...um…didn't want to disturb you."
"I've got sticky leads taped to my scalp, and anytime I move, they tug on the skin. Don't think you can do any worse."
"I'm not sure how to take that." Rodney pulled out a chair and sat on the edge, trying not to let his eyes linger on the sideshow. "I took that questionnaire. It's not surprising you couldn't answer everything. I mean who remembers their first home address?"
"That was on yours?"
"No, but you know who much I suck at pep talks."
He got a snort in reply and Rodney smiled. It wasn't so bad talking to Sheppard in the dark. It actually made it easier somehow to ask what had been burning at him. "Can you..." he paused and cleared his throat. "Can you feel it?"
"Feel what?"
His mouth dry, Rodney swallowed, the gulp loud in the air. "Your...your memories. I mean...are you aware of them going away?"
There was a long pause and Rodney berated himself for asking such a question when he was supposed to be here for support.
"No, not really," came Sheppard's voice . "It's like someone asks me a question and I know the answer, but when I go to reply, there's nothing there."
"So, you remember remembering it? But when you think about it, it's gone?
"Yeah. Something like that."
"Huh."
The next stretch of silence lingered a bit longer and Rodney couldn't find anything else to stare at. He fumbled for words, finding his choices either too cheesy or too morose.
When he finally settled on something neutral, a whoosh of fabric revealed an annoyed nurse and he was forced to leave with a wave good-bye and a mumbled "I've got to go."
And it was only when he'd been ushered out that Rodney realized Sheppard probably hadn't heard him.
A meeting was held the following day around Sheppard's bed, which was all kinds of disconcerting because the man didn't appear sick. He sat straight up with a t-shirt and sweat pants, arms crossed over his chest, all the usual protective barriers in place. There was no asking him how he felt, because he was perfectly fine—except for the whole not remembering certain things.
Woolsey and Lorne had joined the party, and they waited for Keller and her PDA of doom. Because really, why did she carry it around? It wasn't like it stored the Rosetta Stone of answers. If anything, they were left with more questions.
"The good news is that there are no signs of tumors, contusions, or any known disease. I've also conducted an ICD and Processing Speed Test this morning to rule out post-concussive syndrome."
While Sheppard outwardly appeared relieved at Jennifer's words, he'd started digging his fingers into his biceps.
"If that is the good news, what is the bad?" Woolsey inquired, breaking the ice.
"After a battery of neurological and cognitive tests, and imaging studies, we're not sure what has caused these memory problems," Jennifer answered.
"These lapses have been confined to long-term issues?" Lorne asked.
"Dr. Kertesz conducted a five-hundred question survey of which the colonel was unable to answer 25 percent. 21 percent of those questions fell in a time frame of more than ten years ago, while 4 percent were about the last five years during his time on Atlantis."
"Just in case anyone was wondering, I feel fine," Sheppard huffed, clearly annoyed at all the people stuffed around his bed, all discussing his fate as if he wasn't there.
"You did complain of a headache the other day," Jennifer reminded him.
"Probably from all these damn tests," Sheppard muttered.
"Is there no other way to narrow down a prognosis?" Teyla asked, sounding desperate.
Yes, of course there was, Rodney wanted to sputter. Clearly, Jennifer was all about holding them in suspense for her amusement. But he knew better, and he tried to reign in the adrenaline and fear riding shotgun through his brain.
"There are psychological exams, and the Ancient scanner helps alleviate the need for more invasive types of procedures, like a lumbar puncture or resonance angiography," Jennifer spouted off as if everyone in the room knew exactly what she was saying. "However, there are a few more imaging studies that map the electrical activity in the brain and a PET scan to label glucose molecules."
"We still have our mission to M2P-263 in two days to sign the treaty with the Goft," Sheppard reminded them, re-directing their attention.
"Can't it be postponed?" Lorne asked, looking about the room.
"If we postpone the mission, we'll have to postpone the other six treaties. They're all dependent on each other," Teyla reminded them all wearily, her eyes resting on Sheppard almost in apology.
"And it took months of going back and forth with gestures and formal declarations and I forget how many ceremonies," Sheppard complained. "This was the final one and believe me, I'd like to forget how much time we've wasted there."
"Perhaps Major Lorne could go in your place?" Woolsey suggested.
Teyla shook her head. "The Goft stand on formality. Colonel Sheppard was the one who signed the first three parts of the agreement and he must be the one to sign the final."
"I don't remember my high school graduation or the reasons why I can't stand clowns," Sheppard told them bluntly. "I can do my job, but there's no crystal ball into the future. I could get worse. If we don't do this now, when all I have to do is sign my name and drink a glass of wine, than the last six months of negotiations goes down the drain." Sheppard pinned Woolsey with a hard stare. "I read in yesterday's report of a raid on another ally. If we don't get these treaties in place, then we can't set up a spy network to track down those assholes."
"Give Colonel Sheppard a cognitive questionnaire over the next two days," Woolsey announced, looking over at Jennifer. "If you feel he's fit for the mission, then it has a go. If not, we'll scrap the whole thing and start from scratch."
The meeting dragged along like fingernails on a chalkboard, Rodney tuning out all the chatter.
When things started breaking up and people dispersed, he ignored the way Jennifer bore holes in the back of his head. Teyla had to feed Torren and Ronon was needed to do something or other, although he had to be dragged away. It wasn't like Rodney had time to keep up with everyone's schedules. In the end, it was just him and Sheppard and the whole 'slowly losing the pieces of your life' issue.
He stood there, staring at Sheppard's fingers as they played with the end of his sheet. While not physically ill, the man had pulled the blanket across his lap as he stared off into space.
"Just because I'm not cleared for duty, doesn't mean you don't have things to do," he said.
Rodney opened his mouth to dismiss such a gesture, eying the empty chair next to the bed, but Rodney's brain had other ideas and he found himself babbling. "I have to check in on the progress with the fighter ship. See if any of my minions accidentally blew anything up."
Sheppard's fingers stilled in thought and for a moment Rodney panicked. Had Sheppard forgotten about it?
As if reading his mind, the colonel growled, "I remember the fighter ship and our guest Robbie the Robot. Go ahead. Check on how everything's going. When I get out of here, I want to take that bird for a test flight."
Instead of telling him no, he was going to stay, Rodney nodded. "Yeah, I think you're right. Besides, I'm sure you want to be alone to ...you know. To process things."
Before Sheppard responded, Rodney was out of the room.
"I bolted on Sheppard. Twice," Rodney added, pacing in a small circle. "And why did I flee? Because every time I see him trying to act all stoic and calm, I know deep down he's not, and I don't know what to do."
Spinning on his heel, he continued pausing only for breath. "What if he gets worse? What if..." Shaking his head, he steeled himself. "I won't let it."
He stood looking up at Ten's neutral expression, its mouth a flat row of dots, programming cued to Rodney's distress. Wasn't it sad how he could pour out his feelings to the one thing that couldn't comprehend them?
"Can you not re-boot his programming?"
"It doesn't work like that," Rodney sighed. "But thanks for the suggestion."
"Which memory is missing? Virtual or backup?"
Snapping his fingers, Rodney smacked Ten on the shoulder, shaking his fingers from the sting but grinning ear to ear. "You may be right! The brain is just a complex machine, and memories are stored like a hard drive, so to speak," he perked up. "Maybe I could see if there's a pattern to Sheppard's memory loss, and if there is one..."
Then what? All his gusto started leaking into a whirlwind of uncertainty.
A metallic hand whirred toward him and rested gently on his shoulder. "You must gather all data before you can analyze the results."
"Yes, do not get ahead of myself." Rodney stared at five giant fingers touching him. "Good point. I ...um...have to go," he said, hooking a thumb backward. "Thank you and I...well...I hope you find your accommodations alright. I'm sure after a while, the restrictions to the hanger bay will be lifted and you'll be allowed to walk around more."
Ten's area was just an empty space, a desk, a toolbox, and a computer with a few basic programs.
"My facility is functional. I will be pleased to see the fighter ship operational. With the proper interface, it will fulfill its purpose."
It lifted up its giant hand in a semblance of a good-bye wave, and Rodney awkwardly waved back at Ten before nodding at the guards to release the electromagnetic shield for him to leave.
John sat in a stiff, plastic chair across from Dr. Kertesz, a man in his fifties with thick salt-and-pepper hair and a plump round face. John laid his hands on the table, keeping them perfectly still despite the adrenaline thrumming through him, demonstrating to the doc that he was up for this week's outing.
He answered the man's questions with a false casualness, smiled when he knew an answer, and kept smiling when he fumbled over another, because if he really was losing his mind, this was his last chance to help Atlantis.
"What's six times six?"
"Thirty-six. But that has nothing to do with my memory."
"You're right," Kertesz said, scribbling in his notepad. "I'm trying different types of questions."
They played math games for a while.
"The square root of 169?"
"Thirteen"
"What's the g-force acting on an object in a vacuum?"
"Zero."
Then the good doctor tried a fast one.
"Why do you enjoy flying?"
"Because it's what I'm good at," John answered in all honesty.
"Is that all?" Kertesz prodded.
"I love to go really damn fast."
The doc quirked his lips before sliding over a piece of paper. "Draw me your favorite aircraft in the Air Force."
Seriously? Was he expected to play with crayons next?
"I can't draw, Doc."
"Humor me."
John wasn't much of an artist, but he'd sketched out his fair share of aeronautic designs. He took the pencil and paused, unsure what to do. He thought hard, trying to get the image in his head to paper. Slightly annoyed, he ending up using Kertesz's notebook as a ruler, cheating a little.
Studying it, Kertesz sat back. "Why did you change your mind about free drawing?"
Looking down at the picture, John studied his series of triangles and lines. "Because this was easier."
The problem was, he hadn't meant to do something so simple.
Sleeping tethered to a machine was an exercise in hell, long wires confining his head to the pillow. His skin itched, and beads of sweat mixed with the leads glued to his scalp. John resisted the urge to rip them away. Focusing on his breathing, he stared up at the ceiling, the tiles barely visible in the darkness. Counting them distracted his wandering thoughts, because he was scared to death that at any moment, they'd evaporate into the ether.
He selfishly wished a member of his team was here, but with the type of monitoring he was undergoing, visiting was only permitted during certain hours.
A drop of perspiration ran down his forehead and he wiped it away with the side of his hand, surprised to find his palms were sweaty. Drying them on the sheets, his ears twitched at something outside the curtain and he strained, listening for the footsteps.
Nothing.
Closing his eyes, he willed tense muscles to relax, but his heart hammered in his ears, slowly drowning out everything in an overload of the senses. His eyes flew open and he pressed at his sternum, the flailing muscle underneath slamming against his ribcage. He imagined his heart bursting out of his chest like one of those aliens from the movie the other night, causing him to gasp for breath.
Needing to bolt, he ripped off the covers and sat straight up, snapping wire leads from the machine. The room spun around dizzily and John grabbed the IV pole when the curtains flew open. The metal pole slipped right out of his hands and the whole room came to life in a rush of bright light and loud voices.
"Colonel?"
"Colonel, are you alright?"
A small noise escaped his throat and he flinched as something plastic was forced over his mouth and nose.
"Breath slow and easy, Colonel. Slow and Easy."
Suddenly exhausted, he found himself being eased back, his breathing easier, the sound of his exploding heart receding.
"There you go," the older nurse told him.
Looking up, pieces of wire dangled over his face, and he was surprised at how much his hands shook when he tried removing them from his forehead.
"Miller is on call and he's on his way. Do you need some help?" another staff member asked.
"The colonel's freezing. Get him an extra blanket," the nurse answered. "And you should page Keller. She'll want to be notified."
"Right away."
Feeling like someone had wiped the floor with him, John's eyes grew too heavy to keep open. Before he succumbed to sleep, he laughed at how his brain worked. "Thanks, Amy," he muttered, proud at recalling her name.
"What the hell happened last night?
"Keep your voice down."
"I wouldn't be shouting if someone learned how to use the radio."
"Last I checked, you didn't have an MD after your name."
"No, I have two actual real degrees."
"You'll have to wait for Dr. Keller."
"I should have known better than to pull an all nighter doing everyone else's jobs for them."
The voices were outside the curtain and John stared through heavy lids as the shadows moved away.
He woke up the next day to find Keller and the rest of his team standing around his bed. "What happened to me?" John asked bluntly.
Pulling up a stool, Keller sat next to him. "We're still trying to figure that out. The closest we can determine was you had some sort of panic attack. We ran a series of blood and chemical tests and found indications that your system was flooded with cortisol and corticosterone "
John rubbed at his gritty eyes. "What are those?"
"They're hormones produced by your adrenal gland, normally in response to stress," she explained.
"But I was sleeping," John growled.
"I know," Keller answered, looking as tired as John felt. "We're going over the EEG data to analyze the brain activity prior to the event."
"Does this have something to do with his memory problems?" Teyla asked before anyone else could.
"I honestly don't know. The pituitary gland regulates cortisol levels, which is governed by the hypothalamus. They share nothing in common with memory function." Keller plastered on her physician's smile for John. "But it might be a clue to a larger picture."
John didn't like the sound of that. "You think there's more to my memory loss?"
"I think that what happened last night opens the door to other areas for us to focus on." Pulling out her PDA, she entered in her notes. "We'll begin with additional tests later this afternoon."
Translation: they had no clue what was wrong with him and he better prepare for a full day of inkblots and being stuck inside machines.
And tomorrow he was supposed to go on a mission? But they hadn't scrapped it yet and Woolsey wasn't around to deliver the grim news. "Are we still going to sign the treaty?"
Keller crossed her arms tightly over her chest, biting her bottom lip. That was a red flag of contention.
"Something happened?" John looked to his team, reading their answers in their grim expressions.
Ronon leaned over the other side of his bed, speaking for the first time. "One of our allies caught two of the raiders. They claimed to be working for us."
That was the last thing they needed. John felt a headache returning. "They're pretending to be hired thugs?"
"And that we are paying them to stir distrust" Teyla said in disdain. "Some members of the Coalition are trying to use the whole thing as propaganda against other planets reestablishing ties with us."
In other words, the treaty signing with the Goft became even more important.
"I'll be fine," John told them.
"I wouldn't call having your brain flooded with hormones for no reason a sign of complete health," McKay mumbled.
Teyla sent a daggered look at McKay before settling her gaze on John. "We have told the Goft council that you are unwell, but despite risks to your health, you are going to sign it. They are deeply honored."
All he had to do was sign his name, shake hands, and leave.
Piece of cake.
Traveling in the jumper, away from prying questions and beeping machines should have given John a reason to be excited. Instead, he was a knot of tension and misery. Being relegated to the co-pilot's seat only rubbed him the wrong way as he scowled at Lorne, who kept giving him weary looks. McKay sat directly behind John, which really bugged the shit out of him. He could practically feel the man's eyes drill holes into the back of his skull.
"Will you stop it," he snapped at him.
"Stop what?"
John dug his fingers the armrest.
"The weather should be pleasant," Teyla spoke from the back. "It is the height of spring on the planet."
John wasn't in the mood for idle discussion of the weather or crop yields. His knee bounced impatiently, and he found himself leaning forward to inspect the stars. The Goft were real assholes for not allowing them through the gate on their world until they were officially allies, which forced them to travel to a nearby space gate in a neighboring system. Travel time was short, less than an hour there, but the seconds crawled by like millions of ants across his skin.
"You alright, sir?" Lorne asked.
"Fine."
"You're kind of fidgeting."
"It's a bit stuffy in here," John replied, undoing the first button of his uniform.
"Environmental controls are normal, sir."
"Are you feeling alright, John?" Teyla inquired.
Just dandy, how are you? But John kept his bark in place. "I'm good. Just…you know. Want to get this over with."
Unraveling right before the mission wouldn't be a good thing, so John bit his tongue when Lorne entered the atmosphere at a sharper angle than he preferred. John practically punched holes through the armrest at the mediocre landing. If they ever got some of his marbles back, he was going to order his XO to complete a refresher course on jumper piloting after today's sloppy performance.
It wasn't very spring like when they disembarked into the balmy midday air, and John swatted irritably at a buzzing insect near his ear.
Teyla walked beside him as they neared the path toward town. "We will not be long. You are not required to do anything more than sign the treaty and shake hands with Almar."
"Got it. No sightseeing," he smiled breezily at her.
Ronon hung back in the rear, his looming presence like an oppressive weight across John's shoulders. Rodney flanked his other side, face pinched in worry. It was suffocating.
A wall ten meters high protected the square and they walked a few hundred meters through a guarded entrance. The town was robust for Pegasus, brick-and-mortar shops and businesses made up the center, small homes farther south. A population of thousands were spread out over an area the size of a small state, and John wondered how long their steam-powered little slice of heaven would escape the eye of the Wraith.
An entourage greeted them outside of a building ordained by statues and plush gardens. Almar was a squat, little man with long, braided hair and a fake smile. When the head of their council stuck out his hand in greeting, John resisted the urge to punch him in the face.
Gentle fingers gave his shoulder a squeeze. Teyla. For a second, John felt himself beginning to snap like a rubber band, but the sun felt nice on his face and the pounding of an impending migraine receded. The moment Teyla broke contact, another damn insect buzzed around his face, and all John wanted to do was swat it into oblivion.
The ceremony was blissfully simple and to the point. John scribbled his name on a thick piece of parchment paper and clanked glasses of bubbly wine. They were given a copy of the treaty, and a small troupe of people started singing and dancing. Almar came up behind John and clapped him on the back, laughing a cloud of smoke from a putrid cigar.
Something snapped inside. John poured out his glass and almost broke it over the man's head when he turned around.
Ronon came out of nowhere, twisted John's wrist and knocked the glass out to the ground. "It's time to leave."
None of the team questioned why and they hurried out of the meeting room, passing dozens of happy and cheerful people as news spread of the new alliance. John's pulse raced. How many other treaties had hinged on this one, and how many had died waiting for the agreement?
"Ronon, what is wrong?" Teyla asked, eyes on alert for danger.
"Can we use the ring now?" was Ronon's reply.
Lorne had taken point was they were outside of town. "Yes."
"I'm taking Sheppard back to Atlantis," Ronon announced. "We'll meet the rest of you there."
John had just about enough of this bullshit. He jerked out of Ronon's grip, but anything he was about to say was lost in a hail of gunfire. He ducked to the ground in the opposite direction of his teammate, popping up to return fire, his fingers grasping an empty holster.
He was unarmed.
With bullets flying and voices shouting everywhere, John froze. Because this was familiar—like a horribly deep itch in the brain, one he couldn't reach no matter how hard he tried. The smell of burnt flesh and ozone and how the sun beat down on him, small arms fire echoing in the distance.
Vivid images of men screaming collided with an intense black pall of anger building inside his chest—and then it was gone. Replaced by an icy chill down his spine. Filling his beating heart.
There was movement everywhere and three men beat a path toward him. Weaponless, all he could do was bug out. Run and crawl and fight his way back to safety.
But he didn't. Because in a single moment, he knew nothing could stop him and he was going to kill every one of these fuckers. Heedless of frantic shouts and screams, John grabbed the nearest fallen tree branch the size of a baseball bat and charged.
Bullets whizzed all around, dozens missing him as he marched unscathed. It wasn't like they could hurt him. "What is it? Can't aim?" he snarled.
John whacked the nearest guy over the head then jabbed the stick sideways into the other raider's throat.
Hearing the cock of a gun, he turned and faced the end of a pistol. "You're dead," the raider sneered.
John didn't think, didn't say a word. He threw all of his weight into the guy, knocking them both onto the ground, the gun skittering away.
Pinning the man's shoulders, John earned a sharp explosive knee to the groin. Face twisted in a sneer, he growled, "Nice try."
And retaliated by pounding his fist into the face below, again and again and again.
"Enough!"
Strong hands hauled John off the bloody mess, and he turned and smashed the person in the jaw.
"Colonel, it's Lorne!" the man screamed.
Except John didn't really care who it was and lunged, catching only empty space. He spun around in time to catch a red burst in the chest and collapsed in a heap of twitching limbs.