John fought for every moment of consciousness like a swimmer who knew he'd drown if he gave in to the fatigue and shock. His back hurt. His chest hurt – the local anesthetic Jennifer had poked him full of did a fine job of making his shoulder and arm numb to the elbow, but the ache deep inside him was building to levels almost as bad as when she'd been digging around in there.
And none of that compared to the ache of being trapped, flat on his back, without any way to help his people who were in danger because of him in the first place.
Ronon hovered nearby. And yeah, that was the right word. In fact, if the big man didn't stop breathing and staring at him, John thought he might throw a punch. Well, he would if he could get his arm off the table. And he didn't think he could.
So he concentrated on listening in to Rodney and Carter bickering in the cockpit.
"Try rerouting the power through the – ."
"I already tried that, Sam. I don't have access."
Carter sounded reasonable, calm. Rodney on the other hand was working himself into the vapors. John found himself clenching his fists tightly. He needed to be there to help Rodney, too. As good as Sam was, John had noticed that she tended to get Rodney worked up rather than calmed down.
"Then cut power to the main core to wipe the virus and re-initialize with a clean -."
"I already tried that, too. Look, the program is not only controlling the power systems while it does whatever it's doing, it also completely locked out all access to any system we might use to work around it."
"How is it locking us out? Can we use a tablet to run an encryption cracker against it?"
"I thought of that," Rodney said after a beat and John thought No you didn't! "But I think the problem is here."
Rodney must have pointed to something, because they were both quiet for a long moment. John twitched, angry he couldn't see what they were seeing.
"John, do you want something more for the pain," Jennifer was asking, but John just jerked his head in a refusal, desperate for some news. At last, he heard Rodney sigh, a frustrated huff of disgust. John could almost see him slumping in his imagination.
"I keep getting the same results. This code, here, is what is preventing us from getting in. I've tried everything I can think of to get through it, but I can't figure out even what it is. I'm sorry, Sam. I'm so sorry."
John groaned, but it wasn't from the discomfort of his body being really, really mad at him. Ronon slapped his thigh again, and this time, John didn't mind. He still might throw that punch, though. Into a very solid wall...
"Wait! McKay, this code looks familiar."
"No, it doesn't," Rodney whined. John wanted to smack him because Carter sounded like she was on to something. He tensed, listening as if he could hear what they were seeing through his ears.
"Yes, look here."
"That's the virus code. Every time we try to access any system through the console, directly or wirelessly, it -."
"Asks for authentication!" Sam's voice definitely had that edge of triumph John was familiar with. His foot started to jerk as if tapping against the floor. "If you combine the carrier wave the device in John's shoulder was broadcasting with this authentication request you get -."
"It's using ATA gene authentication to block us out!" Rodney interrupted yet again, his voice also going all eureka. John was overwhelmed by a surge of relief that he wrestled into a stoic gasp. They had it on the run. They'd figure it out. He relaxed just a bit, sliding deeper down the slippery slope of misery.
"So...why is it blocking me? I have the gene."
Just figure it out, Rodney, John begged. He wouldn't go under until he knew his men in the jumper were safe, but...he really needed Rodney to hurry.
"Because it's not asking for just any ATA authentication, it's asking for the specific genetic code it used to invade the system in the first place."
John had to concentrate and work Sam's sentence over in his head a few times. Rodney got there first.
"It's asking for Sheppard's ATA?"
"I think Walker nailed it when he guessed that the Iron Man's host was supposed to be dead. The stolen ATA activates the virus, then acts as a fool-proof authentication code because a dead man can't re-initialize the systems it's invaded."
"But Sheppard isn't dead, yet," Rodney blurted, then fell abruptly silent.
John almost chuckled. He took several deep breaths, arming himself, gathering his courage. There were whispers and footsteps around him, but he lay for another last moment willing his abused body into submission and forcing the pain down into a place where he could control it for a little while longer.
"John?" He felt a touch on his shoulder, cool and firm. Sam. "We have a little problem and we need your help," she said, managing to sound both commanding and apologetic at the same time.
John sucked in a deep breath, and heaved himself upright. He swung his legs over his makeshift table and braced against the muddy floor. His socks were immediately soaked in gritty, cold dampness. They'd taken his boots off before surgery.
He lifted his chin and looked Carter in the eye.
"I know," he said, simply, allowing himself to enjoy her look of surprise. "I know. Let's do this."
Sam was surprised when John sat up smoothly from the wedged backboard and swung his feet off the edge. But she found herself not surprised at all when the look he gave her was determined and completely aware of the situation.
"Good. You will have to initialize each system so Rodney can access it and clean out the virus. We are guessing that the program wasn't written to take an ATA match into consideration and that gives us an advantage.
"That advantage being, I'm not dead, yet," John quipped, with a half-smirk that was pure Sheppard.
"Exactly."
"Then help me into the cockpit before I am."
John lunged upright, then promptly sagged almost all the way to the floor. Sam grabbed for his arm – his undamaged side, thank God – and heaved, keeping him from going all the way down. Ronon cursed as she juggled and hurdled over the table to grab for John's waist on the other side.
When they got him sitting again, he'd gone white as a sheet and there was something in his face that was more alarming than the near fall – it was pure terror. She let him catch his breath, but fear of her own for the men in space above them forced her hand.
"Time's short, Colonel. Try again," she snapped, knowing he didn't need coddling. That, in fact, ignoring the weakness was probably what he wanted.
"I'm...ready..." he managed, sounding not nearly as sure of himself as before.
This time, John waited for Ronon and Sam to lift him and they half-supported, half-carried John past the second row and up to the pilot's seat. John's legs seemed to hold hardly any of his own weight. Abramowicz hopped up and Sam handed John to the pilot and stepped back for him and Ronon to lower John into the chair.
John was shirtless, only a large wad of bandage covered the upper half of his right side, and her angle gave her a glimpse of his back before he sat. She sucked in a shocked gasp of surprise. A large, dark and swollen bruise spread across John's back, smack between his shoulders. Centered almost between his spine and right shoulder blade, the bruise blackened to a greenish purple splotch the size of a big orange.
"Jennifer!" she snapped in an angry hiss into the rear of the jumper behind her.
"He said a singing bullet caught him in the back. Even with Kevlar, it's a hell of a whack," Jennifer answered the implied question tightly. The doctor had followed, thin-lipped and disapproving, but silent.
Sam swallowed the curse she really wanted to vent and just nodded with a sharp jerk.
John sat for a moment in the pilot's seat, blinking hard, and then he stiffly raised his hands to the console as Abramowicz left the jumper to join Lorne's team in the rain. Ronon flopped into the seat behind John, out of the way, but watching.
"Try to access the power control systems first," Rodney began, with only a silent double-take at John's appearance. "You'll need to initialize each system with a mental command. Touch won't do it alone. Once you're in, I'll wipe out the virus, then you'll have to think fast to initialize the next system. If we're quick, we can clear enough systems to re-initialize the database itself and erase the problem at the source."
"'Kay," John whispered. His left hand twitched to the power controls, his right clenched the throttle in a white-knuckled grip. "Initializing power control systems...now."
The HUD came to life with a graphic display of the jumper's computer networks and Rodney burst into a spat of activity.
"Life support systems...go!" John said after a thick wait, and the cycle was repeated. John moved his hand, furrowed his brow in concentration. Rodney slapped controls.
"Thrusters...go."
"Inertial dampeners...go."
With each new system, John's shoulders slumped lower, and his face twisted harder with concentration, but his eyes remained locked on the HUD.
"Lost...it. Thrusters...again."
Sam took a breath, held it.
"Good. Dampeners again." John's voice was barely a growl over the constant patter of rain against the jumper's windshield. Rodney flicked a look at him.
"Keep it up, Sheppard. You've got to keep each initialized system clean while I move on to the next."
"I...know...stop talking...more...doing," John snarled. "Weapons...go."
"Is it working?" Jennifer whispered at Sam's elbow.
"It's working. The virus is letting John through its defenses." Sam was closely watching the HUD over John's shoulder. "He's holding it off."
"He should be passed out in the back of the jumper. I've never met anyone so damn stubborn," Jennifer groused.
Sam silently agreed, but unlike the worried doctor, she thought it a rather admirable trait. She just didn't know how long stubborn could keep it up.
Silpa plastered a friendly expression on his face and nodded to the small group of shoppers he passed on their way to the market from the Stargate. The rain had stopped in the village, but a gusty wind whipped droplets of mist off the trees and dampened his hair. The shoppers simply hurried by, their heads bowed against the splatters.
When they were past, he reached into his robes and pulled out the device he'd acquired from his offices – a real Wraith hand stunner. The impossibly rare weapon had cost him an entire year's salary in bribes to find the right buyer, and another in trade. Silpa had coveted the weapons since he'd seen a wandering Gypsy demonstrate one as a child when he and his father had come upon their camp during a hunting trip. He hadn't seen another one until he'd found the one was carrying decades later.
That is, until the Newcomers had started trading in the market. The Atlantians never traded for, or with, weapons, but many of them carried the stunners on their uniforms. Silpa had even overheard one of them, several seasons ago, complaining about having to do so. The soldier who'd made the comment seemed to believe that the weapons of his own people were superior to the Wraith's technology. The boast had both infuriated and terrified Silpa.
Another surge of fear swept through him and his feet stumbled over several steps. The Atlantians were powerful. But the Metal Man seemed even more so to Silpa's imaginings. If the metal man's plan failed, and the Atlantians failed to take its device back to their home for the metal man to find, then the metal man would blame Silpa.
On the other hand, if Silpa could help the metal man find the key it was looking for by arranging for the Stargate to connect the transmission Teyla was so worried about, then perhaps the metal man would reward him with an even more glorious weapon than the stunner. And protect him from Atlantis as well.
The decision was obvious, having thought it through, so Silpa continued to the Stargate with his steps more confident under him. When he got to the edge of the clearing where the Ring of the Ancestors rested, Silpa slipped off the path and hid himself in the trees at the edge.
The soldier at the gate looked bored but alert. The man's weapon – one of the kind that had been boasted about – hung loosely in his hands. Silpa had seen how quickly these men could react and fire. He gulped and crouched a little lower.
The Wraith stunner felt cold and heavy in his hands when he aimed the glowing muzzle at the guard across the meadow, still hidden by the vegetation between them. Xiang was his name, Silpa remembered just before he pulled the trigger. A beam of blue light streaked across the distance and struck the soldier dead center in the chest. Silpa had hunted his entire life and had secretly practiced with his prize, though this moment marked the first time he'd used it against another person.
Xiang twitched, fighting the stun, then sank into a heap on the sopping ground.
Silpa stood for a moment, shaking with exhilaration before prudence took hold and he raced to the dialing device and began pressing the keys of an address. He did not know the Newcomers homeworld, but Ahk-ho-lido had been given addresses to use when they wished to contact them.
As the ring completed its connection and the stretching waters of travel receded into their usual, placid gurgle, Silpa stripped the radio off of the unconscious soldier. He walked close to the shimmering wall of energy and pressed the button as he had seen the Atlantians do on many occasions.
"This is...Pulo, Trademaster of Ahk-ho-lido requesting communication with the people of Atlantis. There has been an accident on our world. Your people are in great danger. Colonel Carter and Colonel Sheppard and Teyla Emmagen are in terrible trouble. Please respond."
Heart pounding in his ears, he waited a few moments, then repeated his plea. He didn't know where the address led, or whom the radio might reach. Pulo always sent runners through to convey messages, but Silpa guessed that using their own radios would make an impression. After a third try, the radio crackled with a reply.
"This is Sergeant Hopkins at the Gamma site. Who is this, again?"
"Trademaster Pulo of the Ahk-ho-lido Market world." Silpa also added the code phrases he had been taught and a description of the "accident" that he'd just made up. He finished with, "Please, your people need help right away. Can you contact your...homeworld and send help?"
There was a pause.
"I will relay your message. I can't promise we'll send anyone without confirmation from one of our own people, but I'll ask them to scramble a team and dial in to request instructions, just in case."
"Thank you. Oh, thank you. Please hurry."
"Hopkins out."
Silpa felt a flush of triumph. His ruse had worked. Hopkins would contact Atlantis, Atlantis would contact Ahk-ho-lido and open the Stargate between the worlds for the metal man's work to complete. When the soldier came to, he would have no memory of Slipa's presence.
He had only to return to the village and wait. Atlantis would be calling back soon...
"Accessing main database. Ready...Rodney?"
John forced just enough air through his lungs to speak the words, but drawing any more air than that was like breathing liquid fire. He'd had broken ribs before that hurt like this. He knew he should be fighting the pain and forcing deep breaths to prevent pneumonia and all kinds of other nasty side effects...but not right now. Right now, the pain was a distraction and it was taking every ounce of what remained of his concentration to chase down the virus scampering through the jumper's computer.
The flickering display on the HUD only told half of the story. The mystical connection of the ATA gene interface usually made him feel more like he was seducing a lover than flying a machine – and sometimes it was even as much fun.
This time, however, each system he invaded with his mind was like coaxing an angry dog out from under the porch with a biscuit. And then he had to keep it from darting back under when he moved on to the next one.
At this point, he had at least ten mutts yapping at his brain, all trying to go in different directions, and he hadn't even gotten to the front door yet. The big dog was hiding in the main database, digging around in the goddam archives for some reason known only to its mangy ass. John forced a slightly deeper breath than was strictly comfortable and held it while he wormed his concentration through the virus's authentication barriers and pushed the porch screen open for Rodney to throw his bug spray. Damn. He was so tired, he was even mixing his metaphors.
"You've got it. I'm in. Just keep the path clear for a little longer."
"Door. Not path," John whispered as a little of his air escaped between his teeth.
"What?"
"Nothing."
In the back of it all, behind the dogs yapping and the virus skittering and the unholy vice squeezing him around his chest, was a small countdown timer, ticking away the seconds his men had left if they were floating around the planet in an unpowered jumper. There weren't many of those seconds left and John was becoming aware of the fact that Rodney wasn't going to get the virus smacked down in time.
His concentration slipped a little with the surge of worry and the screen door banged against the frame, interrupting Rodney's attack on the database for an instant before John caught it on the bounce and managed to prop it open again.
"I need that connection open!" Rodney squeaked, half angry, half fearful.
"I...know..." John snarled. His hand that wasn't wrapped around the throttle was shaking. He pressed it a little harder into the interface, trying to support the connection by feel alone. Damn virus! He hated the Iron Man. He hated that his people were in danger. And most of all, he hated that it was using his DNA to do it all.
Wait a minute. His DNA...
John split his concentration as far as he dared, and sent a new thought to the communications panel. He hadn't invaded that system yet, it wasn't on the way to the database and Rodney had told him the rest would clear out easily once the big dog was gone. But he didn't want to clear out the virus in this system, not yet.
Reaching like a man extending himself too far over a precipice, John tickled the comm interface and opened a channel to the jumper – the other jumper.
"What are you doing?" Rodney yelped when a thread of light traced away from the cluster of blocks on the HUD to draw a new box. John didn't have the capacity to answer.
The virus was still active across the channel – as John intended – and he wiggled his brain ever so carefully into the life support system on the jumper overhead. Another biscuit, another dog came crawling out to snap at his heels, but he was in. Using the virus's control, but his own ATA, John flicked the mental switch that would turn on heat and Oxygen.
It worked! For a second. And then the big dog hiding in the other jumper's database snarled in his face and shut down power to life support from another angle.
John realized he'd been holding his breath for far longer than was advised, when he felt a wave of dizziness. He took a deep gasp that must have had a little groan in it because he felt Ronon's hand on his shoulder when the shudder that accompanied the breath passed. John jerked, and pulled away from the touch to lean further over the console.
Slowly, John stretched his concentration from life support to the power systems on the 2nd jumper. One of the boxes on the HUD, the one that represented this jumper's thruster control, and then another – weapons – flashed a warning, then faded from comforting green to a dull orange.
"Sheppard, you're losing control over several systems!" Rodney was past panic and his voice was merely informative terror.
John knew the score. As long as he could keep the database open and enough power to it for Rodney to keep working, then he could also try to save his men. He pushed harder, waved the ATA biscuit a bit more urgently and finally the HUD drew a green box around the 2nd jumper's power system.
He knew he was forgetting to breathe again, there were weird black spots floating all over the HUD that weren't really there, but he worked even more carefully to send just enough power to life support to give his men more time, but not alarm the big dog enough for it to look for a workaround.
Another local system fell, another box turned orange on the HUD. He'd lost inertial dampeners. Still OK, though. Rodney was still in the database. John's body was stiff and cold with the tension, but his head felt so full, so consumed with the effort of staying ahead of the virus's attempts to regain control of power – on both jumpers – that all sound and feeling vanished from his consciousness. There was nothing but his mind wandering through circuits and glowing lines of energy. He didn't really exist. He was inside the jumpers. He WAS the jumpers.
John fought the virus, no longer reaching out, but simply holding it away from the few precious systems he needed to keep his men alive. The black spots were swimming faster and globbing together into larger holes. Even shallow breaths hurt. He hunched more and more against the console as the abused muscles in his back threatened to mutiny and give out altogether. Even as his body shut down, he felt a surge of triumph. He was doing it. Rodney was almost finished.
He was concentrating so hard on power and life support, that he almost missed the flicker of warning in the communications system. A new signal had been detected. New signal? John struggled to understand. The communications array on the 2nd jumper cheerfully acknowledged the contact with the Ancient version of an electronic handshake and John suddenly got it.
"No! No, no!" he cried. His throat hurt around the ragged words.
The Stargate was open. Atlantis was calling to its digital companions on the other side. And somewhere from deep in the 2nd jumper's database, the big dog snarled with pleasure and gathered itself to jump across the void.
