Rules of War


"Any fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent. It takes a touch of genius--and a lot of courage--to move in the opposite direction."

--Albert Einstein


-

Chapter Four: Identity

-

1:37 pm, Ancient Satellite Infirmary

"We need a plan," said Ronon.

To get right down to the core of their situation, they were stuck in the infirmary quad. Worse, they were stuck in the infirmary with loads of useful medical supplies with no way to deliver them to Lorne's group—Padley's group, actually, now that Lorne was missing.

Sheppard couldn't help but worry about Teyla's condition. The lieutenant didn't mention her in his last report. And the strange power variations weren't helping the strength of their radio signals either. Rodney had been right about the electromagnetic interference, though. Every time the lights flickered, their connection became hazier.

Worse still, McKay had yet to recover from his 'nap'. This was his…what, third time being unconscious since this morning? The whole damn thing was starting to feel like a conspiracy. Who'd have figured his answer man would be the one infected with a computer bug?

The cherry on top of this flavourful cake of inopportunity was their two-and-a-half hour breathing limit. Atlantis wasn't expecting them to check in for another three hours, and there was a good chance the satellite would be nothing but a weightless vacuum by then.

They needed a plan.

"Yeah," he agreed tiredly. "A plan would be nice. I don't suppose you have any."

Ronon's blank expression said 'no'.

"I might," said an accented voice. Dr. Golding was standing at a console near the table, rummaging through some of the files and attempting to hack into the main computer. With their attention diverted to him, he suddenly looked like a deer caught in headlights. "I…I mean, maybe. It's nothing. I shouldn't have said anything."

"Well, don't just stop there. Now I'm curious," Sheppard said with a refined edge.

"The computer bug," said Golding, a little hesitantly. "As far as we know, Dr. McKay was infected by it after he touched the ZPM device. But if it spreads through physical exchange, we would all be carrying it by now."

"True," John said ponderously.

"Well, I've been doing some investigation of the medical logs here, and the amazing thing is…there are none."

Okay, thought John. That was a little strange, but he couldn't see how it helped them help Rodney. Or themselves, for that matter. His wrangled expression must have given him away, because Golding rambled on.

"Colonel, if there are no logs, then it stands to suggest that there were never any people living here," the scientist said with a quivering note of urgency. "Or the entries may have been erased by the virus. One way or the other, I believe the ZPMs might be nothing more than an elaborate trap to get one of us infected."

It all clicked together perfectly. Sheppard reeled from that mental blow, suddenly understanding why the concept of free ZPMs and a giant abandoned weapon seemed too good to be true. "Well, that…would explain a lot."

"Why would the Ancestors do that?" said Ronon.

"The Wraith."

Sheppard turned at the sound of McKay's voice, and found that his eyes were open again, staring at him. The scientist lifted his chin and sidled his back against the wall so he was no longer slumping. Then he looked disdainfully at his arms, fastened behind his back. "You tied me up?" he griped. "Would it have killed you to make sure I had blood circulating to my hands at least?"

Not even slightly responsive to the man's act, John grabbed his berretta and strode forward, brandishing it at the scientist. "Stand up," he ordered him briskly.

Groaning, McKay did as he was told—with a bit of effort, since having his arms bound made him unbalanced. "That's not necessary, Colonel," he said stubbornly, glancing down at the gun. "It's really me this time."

Sheppard tilted his head challengingly. "Prove it."

Rodney's face flooded with one of his severely annoyed, though desperately patient mannerisms he was famous for. "Let's see…thinking, thinking…hmm…oh, here's a good one—if brains were money, you'd be a charity case," he spat with a sarcastic, venomous tone of voice.

John frowned. Yeah, that was McKay—very distraught, extremely pissed off and cranky McKay, but still him. Slowly, he lowered the weapon until it was pointed at the floor. "Okay," he said simply. "Works for me. Turn around."

Realizing the colonel intended to cut him loose, McKay obeyed quickly. Sheppard took out the knife in his belt (a weapon he felt inspired to carry around since the Hive Ship incident) and started to carve at the plastic binding.

"Wait, Colonel," Golding protested, moving towards them. "How can we be sure the bug in his mind isn't simply imitating Dr. McKay to gain our trust?"

"Because," he grated with the effort it took to slice through the damn thing. These things were tough! "The last time it did that, it…really sucked. I don't think it knows how to act."

"But—"

"Listen, McKay's been part of my team for about three years now," John cut him off—not to be rude, just to make his point. "Let's just say I know it's him, and leave it at that. Besides, he's the only one who can figure out how to get Lorne back."

The strap finally snapped and Rodney turned around, rubbing anxiously at his wrists. "The Wraith," he said grimly. "The one in my head, I mean. It set the ZedPM trap for us to find and we fell for it."

"I thought you couldn't talk about it," Ronon pointed out. He didn't say it in a distrustful way, either. He was just being…well, Ronon.

"I couldn't," said McKay. "It…him, I mean…the Wraith—" He was getting flustered. "It's still unconscious right now. Just before I passed out, I saw…glimpses, I guess, of some things. Look, Colonel, you can't trust anything I say. In fact, you shouldn't even be doing that now, but this is…I mean, this thing is dangerous, Sheppard. Very dangerous. This Wraith, it's…not just a bug, it's…" The physicist faltered, blinking distractedly. John immediately recognized the signs of a struggle.

"Rodney?" he said cautiously.

"It's…" McKay inhaled deeply. "It's getting…harder to say things again. The Wraith…the…" Suddenly, he gave a strangled cry and grabbed his head, doubling over.

"McKay!" John lurched forward, just as the room around them started to flicker rapidly. The blue lights that lined the walls let out a loud, high-pitched whining sound. Suddenly, the one closest to Dr. Golding popped. Shards of blue glass went flying in all directions.

Then it stopped. John was gripping McKay's shoulder in one hand and the scientist was still clutching his head bleakly. After a moment, he stumbled back against the wall and leaned there, panting slightly. Sheppard withdrew his hand suspiciously.

McKay looked up at him in confusion, then down at his hand, and back to Sheppard. "I…I did it," he said breathlessly. "I fought against it…and won." No sooner than he'd said it, he winced against something that was obviously very painful.

"Yeah, and look what it did to you," growled John. "You're shaking like a damn leaf, McKay. It could've killed you!"

"I doubt that, Major," Rodney said dourly, rubbing his palm against his forehead.

"Colonel," Sheppard corrected automatically.

They each froze in their placed, realizing different things in the same instant. Sheppard realized that he was no longer talking to McKay and McKay realized that he was not the one in control.

Face darkening savagely, the physicist lunged at him and swung his fist. But John was quick, ducking under Rodney's arm, coming up behind him in one swift movement. McKay spun around, and John did the first thing that came to his mind—he punched him. Hard.

Rodney stumbled back, clutching his face with an offended yell. "Ow! What the hell, Sheppard? You just broke my nose!"

"Wait!" John barked at Ronon, who had his blaster drawn and was moments away from shooting their teammate. "He's back. Rodney?"

"What?" he snapped angrily. "Seriously, was that necessary, Colonel?"

"You started it!" John protested.

"I did not!"

"You tried to hit me!"

"That wasn't me, it was the Wraith!"

Annoyed, yet immensely relieved at the same time, Sheppard stepped forward and pulled the scientist's hand away from his face. "Move your hand. Here, look, it's not even bleeding. You're fine."

"I am not fine!" McKay shot back, but the accusation had lost its bite. He lowered his hands, looking stubborn and angry.

"I…hate to interrupt," said Dr. Golding, who was still standing beside the medical console. "But we have only a little more than two hours to get life support back online, Colonel."

"We still have to find Lorne. And help Teyla," Ronon stated, having placed his gun back in its holder. If Sheppard trusted McKay, he trusted McKay. "Not to mention finding a way to open those doors."

"What? What…and what?" Rodney asked with genuine perplexity. He'd been unconscious when those problems arose…aside from Teyla's injury, obviously. "What's wrong with life support? Oh…" he groaned. "You didn't touch anything, did you?"

John sighed heavily, exchanging looks with Ronon. "Let's just get him up to speed and we'll start from there."

"Good idea," the Satedan agreed.

McKay just groaned again.


2:01 pm, Ancient Satellite Infirmary

"Any luck?"

McKay winced inwardly at the question, now hovering over the console Golding had been working at just minutes ago. Aside from his aching body and the urge to throw up all over the place, and the uncontrollable shaking and the pressure in his skull…he hadn't directly felt the presence of the Wraith in his head since Sheppard punched him. It was almost as though it was trapped behind a fragile barrier in his brain and tore at it mercilessly, breaking it down piece by piece.

And it hurt. He felt like he was going through the enzyme withdrawal all over again, only this time it wasn't a psychotic craving he felt, but the sickening desire to start destroying things. It was a feeling he had to suppress, and it wasn't easy.

"No, Colonel," he said gratingly. "Nothing. The past five times you asked me that question, it was nothing. And five minutes from now, when you ask me if I've had any luck, it will still be nothing!"

"We're running out of time, Rodney. If you don't figure this out soon, we're all screwed," John pointed out with a tone of warning.

"Don't…talk to me about screwed," McKay shot back, his voice shaking, breath shuddering. He vaguely remembered the colonel saying the exact same thing to him once before…but he couldn't remember when.

It made John silent, though. Whether it was what he said or the fact that he was on the verge of hyperventilating that did it, the colonel stopped nagging him and stood back, looking—for whatever reason—concerned. Did he not realize that he needed to concentrate? Why couldn't he just leave a brilliant scientist alone to think…for just a few seconds…?

"Rodney…" John sounded strange. Was that alarm in his voice?

"What?" McKay barked at him, glaring.

The colonel didn't say anything. He had this blank 'holy shit' look on his face and McKay knew…right at that moment, that something was very wrong. Slowly, Sheppard lifted a hand to the side of his head and indicated his ear.

Confused, McKay copied the act and prodded, feeling something warm and slick pooled in the crevices of his own ear. He lowered his hand to examine the substance, and found his fingers smeared with blood.

Oh, God. He was bleeding from the ears.

He knew he was supposed to feel scared. There were all kinds of frightening diseases that involved this kind of thing. It also happened when your eardrums burst, but…he could still hear. He knew they hurt, but through the pain already coursing through his body he'd barely noticed it. And strangely, even though he was absolutely horrified by the notion that blood starting to drip from the sides of his head, he felt both scared and…angry.

Very angry.

"Is…" he said, swallowing dryly. "Is this supposed to scare me?" he yelled into the air, hoping that it heard him. "You can do better than that, Wraith! You want to kill me? Go ahead! Because whatever it is you're trying to do, it won't work!"

He fell quiet, breathing heavily with the exertion of the outburst. Fire burned in his chest, arms, legs, everywhere. The Wraith had heard him. Now it was raging in his head like a tidal wave, drowning out his own thoughts with it's own cold-blooded anger. He fought back, bracing himself against the onslaught with the only weapon in is possession—his mind. The clash felt like something heavy and heard thudding into his chest, knocking him down. With an airless gasp, he collapsed on top of the console.

It happened like a slow-motion scene from a drama. Rodney weakly tried to grip the top of the workstation in a feeble attempt to stay upright, but he slipped anyway. His body hit the floor in a heap of useless limbs, in cold agony.

This was it.

He was going to die.

Ruthlessly, the force inside him started to rip every coherent thought from his mind, set every nerve in his body ablaze. And he thought, faintly, that maybe this was how it felt to be fed upon by a Wraith…from the inside.

He thought he heard Sheppard shouting to him. He wanted to black out, to lose his grip on reality…even to die, if it meant the end of the pain. It hurt. It hurt a lot, and it wasn't going to end. But he wouldn't lose consciousness—of course not. It wouldn't let him go that easily.

God, how he hated his birthday.


AN: He really shouldn't have done that…oh, well.