Vegas Blues: Hit the Road and Go7
Todd sat in the cell. It was a new cell, but was pretty much was identical to the old cell. The same glass walls surrounding him, containing him. The same soft blue light amid the sea of darkness. The same cold metal chair the only fixture. He sat cross-legged on the floor, arms folded on his lap. Eyes closed as he sank into a deep meditation.
The prelude to hibernation. It was the only way to survive. The little sustenance the pathetic human captors had given him wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. So he resorted to hibernation in order to survive. To conserve his strength. And there would be nothing they could do about it. Not a thing.
Unless they killed him.
But Todd knew they wouldn't kill him. He was far too valuable. Too valuable a specimen for their experiments. For the advanced knowledge he contained. With which he bargained for survival. For the minimalist of feedings. Soon, though things would change.
So far his plans were falling into place. One by one. He had tested the strength of the Drone. Of his own communication skills. Then of his captors and their response to it all. His willing, gullible minion was gone, but no matter. He would find another. There seemed to be an excess of weak and easily manipulated minds on this planet, in this place. There was only one thing in his way. One obstacle to overcome.
That damn detective.
The one he'd been forced to bring back from the very brink of death. The one he briefly, oh so briefly feasted on. The taste of him! Such strength, defiance, despair, virility! It was refreshing! Exhilarating. Until he had been forced to give it all back. Draining himself as he bestowed the gift of life, to an unbeliever, no less. Restoring the man to life. It had been a near thing, but he had done it. Now he knew. He knew the only man who could ruin his plans, who would stand against him, who would be ruthless in his pursuit of him was the one he had saved.
John Sheppard.
Todd hadn't been lying. He had indeed seen John Sheppard's destiny. United inextricably with his own. One would fall. One would rise. Todd knew what he had to do. A checklist of sorts, as these humans like to compose, to bring order to their short lives and little minds. Regain his strength. Activate the fourth Wraith. Communicate the location of Earth to his brethren across the stars, beyond the rift. And last, most importantly, destroy his most formidable enemy.
John Sheppard.
Not quickly, oh no. Todd planned to savor every last drop. First by making him suffer. By taking whatever was most precious to him. And destroying it. Preferably in front of him. Todd didn't know what it was, this precious thing or person, but he soon would. He could be patient. Bide his time. All he had was time now. And after tasting that sweet agony, Todd would complete his checklist.
And kill John Sheppard.
John felt a chill as he descended the stairs to the morgue although the sun was blazing and the building was warm. He hadn't even reached the twin swinging doors when the chill crept up his back. He shook it off, but an old wives' tale came to mind. About someone walking over your grave. He pushed the thought aside, entered the morgue. He stopped abruptly.
There was a covered body on the slab. But John knew the identity of the corpse. He felt a tightening in his gut. A wash of grief and guilt. DeMouy sat at a table, muttering to herself. Hunched over a microscope. White lab coat a stark contrast to her black hair. "Can't identify it, can you?"
DeMouy turned in the chair. "What are you doing here? It's your day off."
"Yes, I keep being told that."
"Yes, to your question. Whatever was in this kid's system and overloaded it is gone now. Except for a trace amount that I can't identify. It was the sudden withdrawal that killed him, John. Not your bullets."
John took a small amount of comfort in that. A very small amount. "Probably some newfangled drug. From overseas."
"No. You don't understand. I can't identify these chemicals! There's a baseline, of course, of known chemical compositions but beyond that the proteins are, are...alien," she decided on the word, puzzled. Not realizing how close to the mark she really was.
"You don't say," John drawled.
DeMouy moved to her feet. "What's more, I can't figure out what happened to make his eye look like that! A total absorption of both pupil and iris into a black mass. And the scaling on his arm, it's like nothing I have ever seen and I specialized in infectious diseases! It's almost like he was, was beginning to mutate. Into what? His whole body and internal organs were saturated with that chemical, then completely drained of it. He went into massive shock, irreversible. What could do that?"
"I told you. Some newfangled drug from off, overseas." He almost said off planet, but didn't, catching himself at the last minute. Barely.
"No. I should be able to identify every compound, no matter how they are chemically joined and enhanced! There are no unknown elements anymore, John! It's only the combination that can be different or unusual but this, this has unknown elements which shouldn't even be possible!"
"Leave it, DeMouy. You have to trust me on this. Write it up that way. An overseas drug."
"You want me to lie on a coroner's report?" she asked, surprised.
"No. Just close the case. And here." He pulled out a wad of cash. Placed it in her hand. "That should cover the funeral. Give him a decent burial. He deserves that much."
DeMouy's hand closed over the cash, as her mouth opened. Too stunned to reply she could only nod as John glanced at the body again, lips pursed together. Emotions buried, not rising to the surface. Then he was gone, exiting the morgue at a brisk stride.
The diner was closed. Not that many people came by at this time of day, but still the sign had been flipped to discourage any who might venture this way. Despite being closed the restaurant had one customer. Rodney sat in a booth, head in his hands, elbows propped on the table. A piece of cherry pie in front of him, neglected. The whipped cream oozing down one side to swirl on the plate.
"So now I need another physicist plus a doctor. Maybe I can put an ad in the paper. Wanted, topnotch, somewhat brilliant physicist and well-qualified medical doctor to work for secret government agency. Must be able to keep secrets, tell lies and stay loyal to a fault."
A cup of coffee was set next to the neglected pie. "You should have gone to the memorial service."
Rodney looked up to see Katie Brown watching him. Her admonishment gentle, but firm. Her sympathy a balm to his pain. Even her chastisement was. "I couldn't. I just couldn't. There's not going to be a funeral. They're shipping him back to Czechoslovakia. I should go, I know, I just...I, I, I don't speak Czech."
She smiled. Took the seat opposite him. "Fair enough. But you should have attended the memorial service, Rodney. At least that. You were his friend."
"Yes, I am. I mean I was." Rodney sighed. Shook his head. "I couldn't. I didn't know what to say. At that kind of thing. I was afraid I'd get too nervous and then start to laugh or some other horribly inappropriate thing."
"You were afraid you would say too much," she observed.
"Maybe. I do like to talk." They smiled. "And he was my friend. A brilliant scientist. I just wish I had told him that more often."
Katie touched his hand as it lay on the table, near the pie. "What are you going to do?"
He knew what she meant. Knew the question was about Jenny. He had obliquely told her about the trouble. Without mentioning aliens or sympathizers. Just a security leak. A misguided young woman confused but it could have had dire consequences. No, it had dire consequences, he realized, thinking of his friend. Of the young man John had known. Of the string of murders enacted in the city in a short period of time. Jenny never considered the full consequences of her actions. She never did. She was young, so young in many ways still. Rodney sighed. Shook his head. Met Katie's gaze.
"Honestly, I have no idea."
But his fingers entwined with hers. Tightening.