Madacran

Chapter Ten

Meria had grown tired of him. And Rodney hated that. It wasn't because his pride was hurt... well, some... but because Selemon had been right. That she would grow tired of him. But it was Selemon's fault anyway.

Worry. It was all down to worry.

On one occasion, Meria had even laced his ivis with moton to see if he might still... satisfy her. It'd worked, but his heart just wasn't in it and the whole sordid episode was over in five minutes, so... she gave up. She understood though, that he'd felt his manhood had been betrayed by the fact that she could have resorted to such low tactics. And she confessed that she'd abandoned the idea of secreting cer moton from her husband's quarters. Cer moton. The very best. Guaranteed to keep a man going for twenty four hours. And a part of Rodney winced at the idea.

She still allowed him to sleep with her. Finally rejected by her husband, she needed his company. And Madacran City was at war. And losing. There were no slave markets now for her to replenish her stock. Perhaps war was a good thing for Rodney then.

Actually, come to think of it, there weren't that many slaves, period. Most had run away to join General Loryeffi and Joherner. Now there were two men Rodney would like to shake the hands of.

It was just like his childhood all over, however. Chosen by the wrong team. The losers.

Team...

Worry...

He'd get ulcers for sure. And nowhere in this place was there a decent doctor. You simply mustn't get ill in Madacran City. Ever. And that was bad. That thought was bad. That thought alone was enough to give him ulcers. Not that he was one of those sort of guys who went running to the doctor if he so much as got a splinter in his finger. The other slaves talked of Jaleen, a healer, but she'd gone, vamoosed, disappearing on the very same night that Lord Recito had been murdered along with half his cronies, when Selemon had assumed leadership of the Senate, or rather, what was left of the Senate. Even Selemon's own personal physician used the basic commodity of a jar of leeches and tried to ascertain your humour... yes, well, Rodney's humour was... depressed. There was no other way of putting it.

Team. Worry. Team. Teyla and Ronon. And what were they doing now? Given up on the search for the occupants of Jumper One? He assumed someone had figured it out by now that they had actually gone missing? How long? He'd... Nonononononono, he couldn't have forgotten. He'd been counting. Days and weeks. When had he stopped counting, for heaven's sake? How could it ever have meant so little to him that he'd ever stop counting? And how long since... since he'd last seen Sheppard? Lost count... lost count... Oh, come on! Dr Rodney M. McKay PhD here! How could he have possibly lost count? He was finally going mad? As mad as Kelsoe?

This just wasn't him. Life was like that childhood prank. His ninth birthday party. When Jeannie's friends had been bribed to come. Blindman's bluff. Round and round they'd turned him in the darkness. Of course, the clue should have been the door opening. He cottoned on eventually and removed the blindfold. Another room and no one there... the door now locked. Shut out from his own party and cake.

He was somewhere else. Hadn't been able to stop it. No Team. And now, not even Sheppard...

Sheppard. Sheppard.

Selemon's contacts had never found him. Sheppard. Assumed dead. Buried in a pauper's grave somewhere. Out in the desert for the blue bugs and the secrids to feed on. Like Rosie. And Rodney squeezed his eyes tight shut against that image, squeezed it out of his head. But it would never go fast.

Worry.

Alone. Without Sheppard. Without Team. With the mad Kelsoe and the even madder Selemon.

And they were at war. And a war can cause worry. Worrying when Madacran would be next. Though they had a pretty good idea. After Draulan. When Draulan fell to Loryeffi and Joherner, Madacran would be next. And Rodney imagined that he would be slaughtered with the rest of Selemon's household. Would die alone. And when Atlantis finally traced them to Madacran, they'd be no one left from Jumper One and no one to tell the tale of what had become of them. Jeannie would never know...

Selemon laid a hand across his shoulder, making Rodney cringe and his flesh crawl, and said shoulder sagged low as if taking on a life of its very own and wanting to run away.

"You believe in immortality, Docky?"

"Hmm?" Rodney squeaked. Worry. Whenever Selemon was near.

"These are... stasis pods?" asked Selemon, sliding his free hand smoothly over the glass covers of one of the museum's exhibits.

"Yes and I've explained-"

"So much of my collection is redundant, yes, I have listened to all your... explanations."He wasn't buying it. Rodney was in so much trouble. He knew Selemon well enough by now. Though there was no clue from Kelsoe exactly how much trouble in was in. The captain stood to attention nearby, staring into a space somewhere over Rodney's head. What was he thinking? Had Selemon brainwashed him somehow? Another one of those drugs?

"Stasis pods," continued Selemon, "their use is to hold one's body forever until such a time you may be revived. Immortality. In our culture, Docky, immortality is to live with the gods when we die." And Selemon sighed. "But I expect you are like me and value present life as dear. Just to live to the next breath, eh, Docky?"

And Rodney, being a genius, didn't miss the threat there.

"Kelsoe tells me our little project isn't doing so well."

And then Selemon breathed close to Rodney's ear, breathing on his hair. He was going to nibble, to lick? Oh, please don't! And Rodney so wanted to pull away. No. No. Not pull. Run.Then a whisper, purring and seductive, and Rodney's flesh crawled even more, sending Rodney shivering. Some part of him, the intelligent part surely, was telling him to run? Then what was it making him stand rooted to the spot in horror? "I need this, Docky. I need this machine to be working on the battlefield at Draulan. This is how we ensure that we all live."

"It's... it's not ready." He'd been stalling. No way was he ever going to allow such a technological weapon, a beam device, to be used to kill mere foot soldiers. This was going to be his contribution to the cause. And yes, he knew he was handing Loryeffi his victory on a plate and he knew it meant dying in ignominy among the ruins of Selemon's villa at the hands of Loryeffi's men but at least he knew he'd died with some purpose to it all.

"Kelsoe says otherwise."

"What?!" The sneak. Rodney threw him a look. But still the man watched the far wall, unmoved. How could Kelsoe possibly have known? Kelsoe had been nothing but a Lantean cleaner? Oh... Oh... crap... Selemon... sounding him out, plumbing depths... and Rodney had just given himself away... oh, well done, McKay! Selemon could read him like a book.

"Then it isn't true. Docky! How can I trust you?" and Selemon released Rodney, pretending mock hurt.

He then lowered his mouth to Rodney's ear again. "Here is how. You like children, Docky? Of course, you do. Who doesn't like their sweet innocence?" And Rodney hated those slimy undertones, but he wasn't about to contradict Selemon.

"Well, for every hour you delay in preparing this machine, twenty of the little dears will join the immortals." And Selemon, raised his head, adding airily, "though that may be a blessing, but I'm not going to argue philosophy here. Kelsoe has strict instructions to ensure that the deaths are as painful as possible. And quite honestly, Docky, if your delay is simply out of some squeamishness over killing rebellious slaves, is it not better that they die bearing arms rather than babes in arms?" And Selemon chortled at his own sick pun. "So... Rodney, tell me again, is our little project ready? Can it be transferred to Draulan in the morning? Or has Kelsoe, here, really got to give you a demonstration of how Madacran's finest soldiers can conduct a massacre right before your very eyes?"

And Rodney shook his head bleakly. "It's ready. It was ready two days ago." And now Rodney was handing Selemon victory on a plate. Well, he hoped he choked.

-oAo-

This was kinda weird. How there could be so many men? Yet... there was this sort of silence.

The flap of flags and banners in the hot breeze. The occasional braying and snorting of the trowsy beasts ridden by officers. Armour and shields and weapons that creaked and clanged as soldiers fidgeted, waiting for the sign to move forward. A low murmur of voices as sergeants, and Joherner, made last minute inspections of Loryeffi's men, offering words of encouragement to those who faced their first battle and sharing banter with veterans.

But... it was still silence.

Each man to his own thoughts. Past life and imminent pain. Death and immortality.

Joherner chose not to think. He could get involved with practicalities. He could tighten and straighten armour on a youth of fifteen and hope it saved the boy's life and hoped he could blank out the pale face that stared at him from beneath the helmet, a face that might not live through the next hour. He damned well hoped he could blank it out, otherwise he'd go crazy. He could grip a toothless old timer by the hand and hope it wasn't gonna be the man's last touch with humanity, and make a mental check that the guy had actually remembered his sword.

For himself, he chose not to think. Or hope.

But when he glanced along the long line of soldiers, when he scanned the distant town of Draulan with its own line of men some one mile away, the thoughts came flooding in, making him question yet again, making him wonder yet again, how this wasn't his reality. He might as well have gone right on through to a parallel universe.

When they had taken Fevrum, and were checking out the town for hostile forces, they had entered a villa, unique he'd been told, with its foyer completely walled with mirrors. He'd caught his reflection there. Stunned for an instant. He'd never seen himself in full uniform. The cloak worn off one shoulder. The metallic breast pieces. The studded skirt. Leather sandals that strapped up his legs. A beard even because he'd never gotten the hang of using their cut-throat razors. The helmet.

Joherner.

And not John Sheppard. Apart from the eyes that gazed right back at him... lost...

Had he gone mad somewhere along the way? Gone off into some crazy world because a Wraith had fed on him once? The face was right in the mirrors but little else. Not even his thoughts. He was leading a rebellion. The cause was justifiable but it broke all Lantean protocols to aid and to guide only, allowing indigenous peoples to ultimately sort out their own problems. It was going to end up in bloodshed and... he'd inadvertently started it all. Much like waking up the Wraith.

He felt that what he was doing was right. But... this wasn't him. The John Sheppard he knew lived on Atlantis once, a million miles away. Surrounded by... friends. 'Give it time, Joherner,' Jaleen had said. Heck, that woman understood him. Could she read his mind? It wouldn't surprise him. She called him Joherner though she knew his real name. He was Joherner now. Detached from all around him. An automaton. Doing what was right. Trying to sort out an impossible situation. And no way of sorting out his own.

Lonely.

He and Jaleen had finally made love. He couldn't help it. It was pure basic need. With no real enjoyment as such, thinking of the betrayal of Toplon as his hands explored the secret parts of her, as he sweated out the frenzy of this selfish love. Afterwards, he'd slipped out of the tent in the early hours, leaving her sleeping, and punished himself with a five mile run, letting the early mists surround him. He was lost and alone, condemned to a life out of his control, condemned to a solitude surrounded by people who depended on him. He was different now. This was how things were going to be. Events had taken hold of him. He could change nothing.

Nothing could never replace those deep friendships he had left behind. He could get along with Seldric and Toplon well enough. And Jaleen... but it just wasn't the same. Rodney. Somewhere in Madacran perhaps. Though Joherner didn't know that for sure. Teyla and Ronon... Nothing could ever make those friendships go away... nor the yearning to be back in them... Time wasn't ever going to do that. He'd never have thought he could be so inflexible. Army training always meant you could be dropped in anywhere and immediately strike up friendships... and... he tried his damnedest to go with the flow. But every other person he met... well, he'd been placed on that pedestal... nearly worshipped as a god... Loryeffi's new weapon against Selemon.

Lonely.

And he had thrown himself into Joherner even more vigorously trying to forget. Though he hated all this killing, just to change things. How far do you have to go to change things? Was it really fair of him and Loryeffi to ask these people to lay down their lives? Who did they think they were? Gods? He never wanted the people of Madacran to do this.

So there was a part of him that couldn't even be Joherner. A man caught behind a mirror.

And these people were worth fighting for? Dying for? Was he always a sucker for the underdog? Rodney, the misfit scientist. Ronon, a stray. Teyla, as head of the Athosians... yeah, a sort of … damsel in distress. And he inwardly chuckled at his own choice of words... yeah... Teyla... damsel...

"Joherner."

He had reached the vantage point where Loryeffi and his staff would direct their army. The General slid down from his trowsy to speak with him. Joherner never rode one of the beasts like Loryeffi, preferring instead to fight alongside his men.

"All is in readiness?"

"As ready as it's ever gonna be."

"It is fortunate that I am not a jealous man, for the men love you. You have achieved so much for us. We shall be eternally grateful."

"It's just training and planning, sir." And he made it impossible for Loryeffi to tell what he was thinking, shielding his expression behind the field glasses the man offered to him, one of the rare pieces of Traveller technology owned by Loryeffi.

He scanned the opposing side. They were evenly matched. Numbers and strength. Previous towns had been taken by skirmishes only. Small parties taking streets one by one. The sort of fighting Joherner was used to so this had naturally been the way he trained his 'volunteers'. Draulan was going to be different. Selemon, for some reason, had decided to meet them with a full army, face to face, on an open field. Joherner had read all his battle histories whilst at military academy, so he knew a thing or two about field manoeuvres. Things weren't necessarily a lot different on twenty first century Earth, except... they had tanks, big guns and covering air fire. Ok... so perhaps a big difference then. With Draulan, he was going to bow to Loryeffi's better judgement on how to run things.

"Training and planning, Joherner? Oh, I think not. I think not. On this occasion you are most definitely wrong. Our current achievements are solely a result of your inspiration."

"And some of my incredible luck, sir?" grinned back Joherner, lowering the glasses, trying to be friendly like, as always, even if he didn't feel it.

Loryeffi laughed at that.

"Please, Joherner, please take full honours. It is yours and yours alone." And he took Joherner by the shoulders, turned him to face the men, held up a hand for a salute that began soft and then took hold, resounding through all the ranks, through all the lines of men, through the entire army, echoing across the field to Selemon's men, sending up flocks of startled birds from near-by trees.

"Joherner! Joherner! Joherner! All hail Joherner!"

"Hey, no... not me..." murmured Joherner.

He was uncomfortable with all of this and Loryeffi saw that, slapping him so hard on his back he could have nearly fallen over. And Loryeffi was still laughing as they both returned their attention to the front.

"After Draulan, we move onto Madacran. And when victory is ours, what will you do next, Joherner? When you find Dr. McKay, will you return to your world?"

"We have a saying where we come from, don't count your chickens before they hatch." And it was difficult for him to keep his voice level and steady.

"It's true, but hope? Everyone knows what they hope for in life surely?"

"I hope to live through the next couple of hours." And that's how Madacran had been for him. One thing at a time... Pacing himself... waiting... not daring to hope... ever... Putting all hope away... somewhere protected... And would he leave? Now that he'd brought these guys this far? If it'd been right to take up their fight in the first place, then it must still be right to stay?

"I'm never going to get anything out of you, am I?" smiled Loryeffi. "Tell me, Joherner, what do you make of that?" And Loryeffi guided Joherner's arm to point the glasses to the west.

Joherner's vision blurred as he focussed in.

Rodney.

"It is some sort of mechanical device, is it not?" asked Loryeffi, puzzled as hell.

For a second, Joherner didn't register the question asked of him. Something in his chest gripped hot and tight. His lips mouthed the name. Rodney.

Rodney on the opposing side. Aiding Selemon. Why? Rodney? Why? He had to have been forced. Had to.

"Joherner?"

And he snapped his brain into gear to try and figure this thing out. Something big and round and metallic. Being positioned by at least twenty men, herding trowsies that pulled a low cart carrying the device. So heavy its wheels sunk deep into the ground. And a smaller cart near-by. Carrying a ZPM.

Crap...

"You have to..." He couldn't say it and handed back the glasses. But there was no alternative. There was going to be a bloodbath otherwise. "You have to turn and run."

"What?" And Loryeffi looked at him as if he'd gone plain mad.

"Call retreat! Now! Or lose the entire damned army!" Had he got to spell it out?

"Joherner?"

"Believe me when I say I know what I'm talking about!" And he was sprinting for the bugler. He was going to do this himself if Loryeffi didn't. Calling over his shoulder. "Get your men out of here and now! And fast! It's a machine. It's a damn machine that will kill you all!" The gut feeling there that it was already too late.

Rodney. Rodney, why are you doing this?

Little warning.

A hissing, sizzling noise as the air became charged with electricity. Aware of those faces in the front line. Upturned. Afraid. Afraid. And death reflected in those faces. And they didn't even have a chance to scream as the flash of blue consumed them. Clods, body parts spurting up from the ground ahead of him. He instinctively threw himself down. Hell! Hell! Everything hitting, pounding, jerking his prone body. The buzzing and dazzle horrendous as it seared a course through the earth, thudding, vibrating only yards away, setting his teeth on edge, exerting a pressure so tremendous on his skull, he was sure that his brain would explode. Face in the dirt, choking, coughing on the fumes of burning carbon, swelling his lungs tight against his armour.

The beam passed by.

He dared to raise his head. Blearily watching over his shoulder, helpless as the beam eliminated, there was no other word for it, Loryeffi and his staff from the very spot Joherner had been standing seconds earlier. Watching, as the beam slowly and methodically proceeded on, slicing up the earth, sending panicked men running in all directions, their cries insignificant above the deafening grind of the beam... men dying... carnage... the ground ploughed and buckled, layered with blood and broken and heaped corpses...

He was up again and running, over and around the mess and mud, trying not to think of what lay at his feet. He could feel the charge lifting the hairs on his body and wondered if wearing his metal armour were safe, noticing now its heat and new tarnished brown colour.

He found the bugler boy dazed and wandering.

"Call me up a unit!" he yelled, ripping off the clasps of his torn, stained cloak. It was going to get in the way of what he'd got planned.

"Sir?"

"I need men. Give out the call!" Clutching at the poor boy's tunic, trying to shake some sense into his shocked brain. The bugle went to the lad's lips and the baleful noise just made it above all others. Three dozen men, his own, including Toplon and Seldric were at his side. Pale and horrified. He was grateful that they hadn't turned tail and ran, though even that wasn't an option. The beam was systematically slaughtering those who fled or stayed on the battlefield alike.

Joherner was already running forward towards Draulan as he gave his order. "We have to take out... the machine!" What else could he call it so these guys would understand? Hell, he didn't even know what it was either. They all nodded their understanding and followed. He waved them on.

"Take to the scrub!" Far to the west where mangy low twisted trees grew. Their cover.

"Seldric, throw me your gun!" He intended to be first if he could and Seldric was already lagging behind. He turned, running sideways briefly, catching the gun at his chest. They'd be a control panel. He'd just blast it out. Anything to put a halt to this massacre. Too many men... too many men dying... And Rodney? Could he rescue him? Hell, what if one of the others got there first? They'd possibly kill him, not realising who he was.

The field became a blur at his feet. Skirting, leaping bushes. The rhythm of his thumping heart felt in his ears. Breathless. Perspiration. The longing to throw off his heavy armour. His men speeding, crashing through the undergrowth alongside or close behind. Hopefully they wouldn't get spotted. Not until they reached the opposing line. This was suicidal. Hopefully they wouldn't get spotted and the beam turned on them. But this run was going to take nearly ten minutes... too late... too late to prevent further killing. Rodney... Rodney... turn it off... turn it off, damn you!... He can't know what he's doing... he can't know...

The bushes, the ground, his men's faces, all coloured blue as the beam behind them continued to take its toll, the noise of rending and the screaming of men still constant over the noise of his feet pounding the earth.

Trees thinning and Joherner and his men veered off to the right. Breaking cover. The surprised faces of the enemy. Firing at the faces using both hands. His own face set in grim determination. Hating this murder too. Toplon following his lead. Cutting a clear strip through for others to follow. Swords drawn against them. Soldiers advancing in with realisation of this attack. And still Toplon and Joherner taking them down with blasts from their weapons. Cold. Ruthless.

The machine seen above the enemy heads now. A couple of yards. A sizzle. And the beam suddenly stopped. So that was something. Orders shouted to give it extra protection. But Joherner and his men were there. Clanking and yet more shouting as swords engaged. Joherner rounded the machine. Ducking quickly as a sword whizzed by his head and shattered against the casing. The control panel... where...? Where...?

And Rodney shouting at him... where was he...? Where...?

"Sheppard! It's you! Sheppard! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Rodney in the confusion of the mass of scrapping men, being dragged away from the machine by Kelsoe, being pulled to safety. Rodney struggling against those arms that held him tight as Kelsoe and a couple of soldiers bodily heaved him away. And Joherner hesitant... Rodney or the machine... no... the controls... he aimed and fired and ducked as pieces flew off in all directions.

"Sheppard! Omega... Delta..." and a whole load of other codes... "the ZPM!" And Rodney knew it'd all be Greek or whatever to the Madacrans. Wrecking the machine's controls would not be enough. Rodney was giving him a shut down code for the ZPM. Something permanent. To deplete its power. He couldn't take the gun to it. Too unstable. And Joherner swivelled round, relying on his men giving him the cover he needed. Found the keyboard. Forced to use the gun as a club against a guard who'd suddenly clutched and pulled at his hands. Tapped the keys and watched the orange light fade. Toplon tugged at him now... they had to go... And Rodney was lost from sight in the tangle of battling men... gone from him again... time to go... firing into the bellies of men and watch them fall... leave Rodney... like Weir... leave Rodney like Weir... and he looked back one last time... Rodney... gone...

-oAo-

Kelsoe kept quiet as always and watched.

He saw detail. The way that Selemon's mouth twisted in fury as he surveyed the wrecked machine. The High Senator had christened it Ghojan. Chaos. Now it lay before him, destroyed.

He saw irony. Chaos destroyed in chaos. The death machine... dead.

He saw detail. He had seen the the way that each man had fought. A face contorted and arm muscles knotted with effort as the sword was driven home. Flesh. Sweated, dirtied and bloodied. A gun raised, straight and true. An executioner face there. Another face twisted. No hope in the eyes. Hands grasping at a wound spurting out life blood. Slow motion. A broken sword. A face horrified knowing that death would now follow. Sword against sword high in the air. Lips that curled round screams and cries. That he didn't really hear. His mind registering sound as sight, through a distant haze. Detached.

He remembered that Dr Cornwell had said that this was his madness. Only she wasn't allowed to call it madness. There was some medical name. And she gave him pills. And said he should go back to Earth.

No. He wasn't mad. He saw detail. And he saw wholeness, completeness, entirety too. When was that ever madness? And the entirety of the Draulan field had been death. The entirety of existence was death.

And what did it ever matter if people had died today? They were all going to die... eventually. God would see to that... the entirety of existence relied on God making sure that they would all die... eventually.

Like Rosie...

He'd seen hope once in the scientist McKay's eyes. And he had watched that hope die. There could never be hope with God around.

It was God that needed to be killed. Not men on battlefields. And he felt some stirring of opposition to Selemon. Selemon had gotten this wrong. He'd gotten the wrong idea about killing men...

No. Selemon had hoped, with Ghojan to take over the Universe. He'd hoped that the scientist would learn how to adapt the machine into something, better, bigger, yet more spectacular. And hope had died for Selemon too, replaced with cursing the name of Colonel Sheppard. But it was never the Colonel's fault, reasoned Kelsoe, but God's. Selemon should see that.

And he was sure that Selemon was resourceful enough to find other means to conquer the Universe. And then, when he did, Kelsoe would find God there... somewhere... and kill him... It was what Kelsoe had been born to do. He was humanity's avenger. Born to avenge the whole of humanity...

He saw the detail of a childhood memory... a street where the wind blew, sending grit into his eyes. He'd wiped away his own tears, as his mother, oblivious, dragged him up to the Church porch. They'd taken chairs at the back, embarrassed with their lateness. She was always late. She'd had to work a cleaning shift early on, on account of Kelsoe senior being a 'no good drunk'. Dom hadn't known what a 'no good drunk' was exactly. But he knew that his father beat him and his mother, and reeked of beer. A lot. Dom had sat quietly on his seat and listened to the sermon. And then had squirmed on his backside some when it got all so boring. God was everywhere. Everywhere in the Universe. God was so powerful, he had even made the Universe. Then why had Dom never seen him? But only... his dead, dying son on the cross, suspended from the ceiling. An instrument of torture hanging from the rafters of the house of God who is Love. That scared the small Kelsoe. Red painted blood dripping from the wounds made by nails. Blood dripping from the crown of thorns over His face. The agony that they called Passion. And often, attending Church, he hardly dared look up. God cared for humanity. Loved them. But did not even save the life of his own son... God was the same as his own father. 'No good.'

God cared for no one. The Wraith. Rosie. Disasters. Wars. He allowed it all to happen. The Universe would be a much better place without God.

And Kelsoe watched, impassive as Selemon struggled to contain his anger. But this wasn't the Colonel's fault. Nor even was the death of Rosie. Though Kelsoe had been real mad at him at the time. Though... no... he still couldn't forgive him. He still felt he could kill Sheppard. Sometimes. When life was less hazy. When he saw more detail.

No. This was God's fault.

"It cannot be fixed?" Selemon shot at McKay.

"No."

"You are certain? These wires... surely they are simply hanging loose? They can be repaired?" His voice getting higher and louder.

"Perhaps, yes. But without the power of the ZPM, it'd be useless." And Kelsoe saw the small detail of smugness in the scientist's eyes.

"What did he do?!!" screamed Selemon, pacing a small circle before the machine. "How...?"

Omega. Delta. McKay had given Sheppard the codes. Kelsoe remembered the detail. But nothing mattered. They were all going to die anyway.

"Well, I keep wondering that too. He has an advanced ATA gene. That must have been how it was done," lied McKay, looking Kelsoe's way, praying Kelsoe hadn't understood. But Kelsoe had understood. Had understood perfectly. But nothing mattered. They were all going to die anyway. Unless Kelsoe got to God first.

"Do you know how difficult it was to find a ZPM?" Selemon could not believe this bad luck. See, Selemon. You need to find God and kill him. No more bad luck then.

"Yes. Hm... Yes. Actually, I do." And Kelsoe heard the relief in McKay's voice that he had been believed. A lot of detail flooding in here. Kelsoe had always understood that McKay had been able to augment the power of the ZPM, abandoned by Travellers who believed it spent. McKay could do it again but wasn't saying so.

Selemon stood still and sighed, adjusting his toga, all messed up when he'd lost his cool. "Now Loryeffi's army has been defeated, perhaps we may resume trade with the Travellers. We may be fortunate and acquire another ZPM. Until then, repair the Ghojan and occupy your time further to try and discover, Docky, some other means to power the machine." And Selemon placed that friendly conciliatory hand on McKay's shoulder that McKay hated so much. "I have every confidence that you can do this, especially with Kelsoe, here, as encouragement. Similarly, I have every confidence in both Joherner and John Sheppard being captured. If they haven't been killed already. We will find them. We will find them."

-oAo-