Chapter 10

Evan Lorne sank into the back of the police vehicle, ignoring the thrum of people around the car. His head was throbbing, and he let it fall forward into his hands. He could already feel the skin around his eye growing taut, and he knew he was going to end up with one hell of a shiner in the morning.

He forced himself to lean back, stretching out his lower back as he did so. He'd spent the last three hours walking all over the capital city, stopping in at restaurants, bars, medical clinics, parks—anywhere he could think of that Colonel Sheppard might have wandered into. He was working off the assumption that the colonel was not thinking straight from the painkillers he'd been on. It was the only explanation he could come up with that didn't terrify him completely.

The scary explanations involved life-threatening injuries, kidnappings, accidents—the type of situations you didn't just walk away from. He sighed, forcing those thoughts from his mind. They weren't going to help anyone at the moment, especially Sheppard. They'd searched the hospital again, just to make sure the Colonel hadn't been shuffled off to another room, but not a hint of his whereabouts had turned up. From there, he had gone to the main police headquarters, Teyla and McKay had split up to search other parts of the city, and Doctor Weir was back at the palace, hoping Sheppard would just show up on his own. Evan had had less and less hope of that happening as the night wore on, and he figured that if Sheppard was just going to turn up, he would have done so by now.

Nurif had done them a favor, though. Nothing mobilized a city's police force like a direct call from the President himself. Evan had been in the station trying to get help when a woman had marched out of a back office and demanded to know if he was the off-worlder. He quickly figured out she was the chief of police, and within minutes, calls had gone out to every officer on duty, off-duty officers had been pulled in, and the entire station had been thrumming with activity.

Evan had tagged along with two officers who were just heading out. The three of them had scoured some of the poorer areas, looking for any sign of Sheppard. No one had seen anything, but he wasn't sure they would tell him even if they had Sheppard sitting on their laps.

In a moment of frustration, he had said as much to the latest group of bar patrons. The ring leader had taken offense to that and the next thing Evan knew, he was flying backward out the bar door and landing solidly on the grimy sidewalk, his face already swelling from the man's thick-fisted punch. Luckily, the two police officers had been standing a few feet from where he'd landed, and the fight had ended abruptly.

It wouldn't have been much of a fight. Evan looked out the window to the large man who'd swung at him and realized the guy could have crushed him within seconds. He touched his cheek and winced at the aching pressure. The two police officers were still talking the man down, and the man was still red-faced and shouting in a drunken rage.

His radio chirped and he glanced down, wishing for the hundredth time that night that they'd left a radio with Sheppard at the hospital. How many problems would that simple act have avoided? A second later, Doctor Weir's voice rang through.

"This is Elizabeth Weir. Any sign of Colonel Sheppard?"

Lorne paused, waiting to see who would answer first. It was usually McKay, then Teyla, then him. They'd reported to each other every hour for the last three hours, never with any news.

"McKay here. I have walked all over this damn city—no sign of him anywhere. He could have wandered off into the mountains by now."

"I have not seen any sign of him, either. Everyone I talk to denies any knowledge of him," Teyla answered.

"Do you think they're lying? Maybe one of them has seen him and isn't talking…"

Lorne keyed his radio, cutting Doctor Weir off. "Lorne here. I haven't seen him either, and like Teyla, I'm not getting much from the people here. I don't think they're hiding anything, though. I think they're just not in the habit of giving any information to the police. It might be different in other parts of the city."

"I have to agree with Major Lorne's assessment," Teyla interjected. "I do not believe anyone has any information to give us."

"And the later it gets, the less friendly they're getting."

"Have you run into trouble, Major?"

"Uh, nope. Just accidently ran into someone's fist."

"What?"

Evan winced at McKay's squawk, and his headache ratcheted up another notch. He knew McKay cared about their well-being, and he would stay up all night facing fist-swinging drunks if it meant finding Sheppard, but sometimes, his concern was painfully received.

"I'm fine," Evan answered.

"I just spoke to the police chief, and they're going to continue with the search, but it's getting late. I want you three back here. We'll continue the search in the morning."

Evan heard the chorus of complaints and joined in with determination. He could imagine Weir holding her hands up in the air in the empty room to stem the tide of voices in her radio.

"Stop by the hospital on the way and check in with Doctor Beckett, but then come back here. That's final."

"Yes, ma'am."

It took Evan another forty-five minutes to reach the hospital, due to a wide truck having crashed into a pole then sliding to block all four traffic lanes. The policemen driving knew the city as well as anyone, but even their back-road detour took awhile. Evan breathed heavily through his nose, the aching pulse behind his eye not appreciating the twists and turns of their route.

The roads suddenly reminded him of his native San Francisco and he felt a rare pang of homesickness. He closed his eyes, pushing thoughts of home to the back of his mind, and concentrated on his increasingly pissed off stomach. By the time the car pulled up outside of the hospital, he felt like he was seconds away from losing the battle, and he lurched out the door and staggered to the public trash bin set on the sidewalk in front of the main doors.

"Are you alright, sir?" one of the policemen asked as he came up behind him.

Lorne gagged, but managed to not actually throw up. The smell emanating from the trash can wasn't helping things, though. He could feel sweat pop out on his forehead and his stomach clenched. He pushed away from the bin and took a deep breath.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"You need a doctor or anything?" The policeman looked at him warily, keeping his distance. The other one had stayed near the car and was scowling in disgust at the trashcan, no doubt reminded of his many encounters with late-night drunks.

Evan waved them off, letting them off the hook, and the two retreated back into their car. They at least had the courtesy to wait until Evan made it through the front door of the hospital before disappearing back into the city.

He walked through the main lobby, drawing more than one curious look from both visitors and medical personnel alike. He was dead tired and staring dumbly at the map of the hospital, trying to remember which floor Beckett was on when he heard soft footsteps behind him.

"Major Lorne?"

Evan spun around, then grabbed at the wall as the room lurched dangerously. He saw Teyla's eyes go wide as she took in his appearance, but she stepped forward quickly and grabbed his arm.

"What has happened?"

"Bar brawl. I lost."

She raised an eyebrow at his answer, but kept a firm grasp on his arm and led him up the stairs. He followed along silently. He had no clue where they were going. At the second floor, they turned into a wide hallway and she pushed him into a chair.

"I will get Carson."

"No, it's okay. I'm just tired."

She said nothing to that, and disappeared around a corner. Evan leaned back to let his head rest against the wall. It had to be nearing one o'clock in the morning. He was overcome with the urge to lie down, but the effort of moving demanded more energy than he had at that exact moment.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Evan opened his eyes slowly, and it took a minute for McKay to come into focus. He stood in front of him with his hands on his hips and a disgruntled scowl on his face, exactly the way his grandmother used to look at him when he'd come back from the yard or the park covered in dirt and grass stains. He smiled at the memory and saw McKay's scowl deepen in response.

"Hey, McKay," he answered.

"Are you drunk?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Because you look a little tipsy. Also, you look like you came out on the wrong end of a bar fight. What was it you told Elizabeth? Something about running into a fight?"

Evan nodded, punching the air haphazardly with his fist before closing his eyes and sinking deeper into the chair. He really needed to lie down. The lights in the hallway were too bright, stabbing through his head.

"Carson, hurry up!" McKay yelled, and Evan groaned in response. The patter of footsteps quickened, and he sensed more than saw someone kneeling in front of him.

"Major? What happened?"

He opened his eyes again—still blurry, still too bright.

"Hey, doc," he answered.

"Heard you ran into a fist. Are you sure it was just one?"

"Just one what?"

"Just one fist. That's a right nasty bruise on your face."

Evan stared back at him and his mind struggled to keep up with the conversation. He let the doctor examine him, and even managed to keep his whimper of pain to a minimum when Beckett peeled his eyelid back and flashed his penlight across the pupils.

"Any dizziness or nausea?"

"Um…not really dizzy," he answered, ignoring the look Teyla was shooting at him. "Almost threw up outside, but I think that was from the roller coaster car ride over here. Otherwise, I'm just tired."

"How's your stomach now?"

"Okay."

"Headache?"

"Sure…head aches a little."

Beckett patted his arm. "Well, I don't think you've got a concussion, but that bruise will probably be a wee bit painful for the next few days."

"Doc, seriously. I'm fine. I just need some sleep. It's been a long day and night for all of us."

He felt hands pulling him to his feet, and he opened his eyes, mustering his strength. Beckett had a firm hold of his elbow and was leading him down the hall without a word. Lorne was about to protest when he felt something cold pressed into his hands. He jerked in surprise and looked at Beckett.

"This will help with the swelling. Keep it on that bruise at least until you get back to the rooms. Rodney, Teyla—"

Evan pressed the cold pack to his face, wincing. Beckett talked to Rodney and Teyla quietly, no doubt giving them firm instructions to send him straight to bed. Whatever. At this point, he wasn't going to put up much of a fight. All he wanted to do was lay down. He glanced around the hospital hallway, but it was silent save for their small group.

A few minutes later, he, Teyla, and Rodney had said goodnight to Beckett and were making their way back to the streets of Sateda. One of the public transport vans swung by to pick them up, and Lorne forced himself to stay awake and alert all the way back to the palace. They were still on an alien world, after all, and until Sheppard turned up again, Lorne was in charge of all of their security.

President Sal Nurif had always relished late nights. There was a quality of silence about them—as if he were the only man alive and moving through his world. As a child, when others had been afraid of the dark, he'd looked forward to it. He'd spent hours draping blankets over his window to create absolute black, believing that in the darkness, he could be anyone anywhere.

His parents had been a bit perturbed, but Sal was smart and ambitious, and he'd risen quickly to the top of his political career. He was, to date, the youngest elected President of Sateda the people had ever had, and he'd been re-elected three times already. The people loved Sal Nurif.

That night, the winter thunderstorms rumbled across the city. The wind blew so hard, he could hear the window panes shaking in their frames. He might have loved the darkness of night, but he didn't like storms. They felt too much like the threat of some higher being directed at Sal personally.

The negotiations with the people of Canada had gone smoothly enough until today. They were friendly and willing to share their scientific and medical knowledge. Sal had his suspicions that the name of their home planet wasn't actually Canada by the way all but the scientist struggled to say the word around an impulsive grin. So be it, though. Regardless of the true name of their world—and Sal had his own theories on that—they were going to be very good allies. If only they could agree on the military aspects of the alliance…

Sal sighed and tried to relax. He lay stretched out on the silk sheets of his bed—nothing but the finest for the President—propped up on a mound of pillows and staring out the large bay window at his feet. He had an unimpeded view of the city, its glittering lights dancing beneath the latest burst of rain. For some reason, storms seemed to catch on something high up in the sky and hover over the city, sometimes for days. The countryside could be enjoying beautiful sunny skies, but the city was almost always under the threat of gray, overcast skies—at least in the winter.

It had been a long day, and it hadn't ended well. He knew the following day was going to be just as busy, but his mind raced with the events that had taken place. Most of it had been spent in endless negotiations, only to be interrupted with news of Kade Tremek's accident. Sal shook his head. Tremek's accident wasn't exactly unexpected. He was a little surprised it hadn't happened sooner given how recklessly the man usually drove, but this was the worst possible moment for it to finally happen. First Langus to suicide, which had shocked Sal at first but now that he thought about it, Langus had always seemed a bit weak. Then Tremek, one of the military's most gifted generals. And to top the night off, the off-worlder—Sheppard—had wandered off and gotten himself lost.

Sheppard was a military man to the core. Sal had seen that the first day he'd met the man. Both Tremek's and Specialist Sincha's glowing reviews of him only confirmed it. And like all the military men Sal knew, he probably enjoyed his time with his ale. Even Langus had enjoyed his drink-time, and he hadn't exactly been the epitome of the military man.

There was no doubt in Sal's mind that Sheppard would turn up, probably drunk out of his mind with half the city in preparation for the following day's activities. He sighed again, biting his lip. Should he continue with the plans? The alliance hadn't exactly been finalized, and it wouldn't be until Sheppard decided to show up and say his bit, but close enough, right? How would the off-worlders feel about the speeches and the dignitary feast if their man was still missing?

But he wouldn't be missing. He'd stumble home at some point, maybe even tonight. Sal rubbed his face with his hands, trying to let some of the exhaustion he felt in his body seep into his mind. The rain outside had dried up again, and he even thought he caught a glimpse of stars. A bright sunny day would be taken as a good omen for the alliance and the War Against the Wraith by all of Sateda.

Commander Kell would be there as well. He had to keep reminding himself of that. The man had seemed agitated by something that had happened on base—Tremek's accident, he presumed—but he had been genuinely shocked when Sal and Military Chieftain Hettan Madal had temporarily promoted him to Adjunct General of the Capital Region until Tremek either recovered, or Heaven Above—passed on.

Kell's first order of business was to maintain military readiness, the War Against the Wraith hanging ever so closely over them. Second, he was to investigate Tremek's accident just to be safe, although Sal couldn't imagine anyone holding a grudge against the easygoing general. The man was congenial to a fault. Third, he was to assure the public in the festivities of the following day that all was well with Sateda. That was, and had always been, Sal's main priority as President.

He could feel his thoughts slowing down, giving in to his body's demands for sleep. It had to be well past midnight now. He pulled the blankets up over his ever-growing paunch and rolled onto his side.

There was a sharp thud, then the distinct sound of shattering glass. It reverberated through the dark room. Sal bolted upright in bed and looked around, but the room was quiet. He was alone. He peered at the window, but it seemed intact.

He was sure he'd heard glass breaking. He reached over toward the small lamp next to his bed when he heard a loud pop, followed by a blinding flash of light. His heart thudded in his chest, adrenaline pushing him out of bed and running toward the bedroom door. His palace was well protected and his popularity rankings high, but there was always some disgruntled group out there. The threat of assassination or attack was always a possibility, although admittedly he'd never given it much thought.

He reached the door and fumbled with the handle. He could smell smoke behind him, and he turned around to see the curtains around his large window burst into flame. A small squeak escaped from his throat, and he yanked harder on the door. A second later, he managed to fall out into the hallway and call for help, and a few seconds later, the hall and bedroom were swarming with guards.

Sal stood amidst the chaos of guards running backward and forward. He seemed unable to do anything but stare at them. Eventually, Commander Kell arrived and some time after that marched toward him. The man seemed almost oblivious to the pandemonium around him. Kell was cool under pressure, and Sal was sure it came from his years in the military. He resolved right then and there to start imitating Kell's demeanor. In an emergency situation, no one trusted anyone more than the man who was calm and in control, acting like he'd expected everything to fall apart. To him, it was no different from anything else he faced on a daily basis.

"It was a small canister, flame-proof," Kell said as he came up to him. Sal straightened up so he could look the commander in the eye. "It wasn't meant to do much damage beyond a broken window and a singed curtain."

"What was the point then? To frighten me?" Sal responded, forcing a certain amount of haughtiness into his voice. No one intimidated Sal Nurif.

Kell's face was expressionless, his voice even more so. "Possibly. There was a note in the canister."

He handed a small piece of folded paper to Sal, which Sal took and opened with confidence. A few lines in, his hands were beginning to shake, but he held his arms as rigidly as he could. He could feel Kell watching him. He finally looked up at the military man.

"A death threat?" His voice shook, and he swallowed in a desperate attempt to get some moisture into his throat.

Kell nodded. "One we need to take seriously. If they were able to get this canister through your bedroom window…"

"Yes, how did they do that? Where were the guards?"

"We're investigating that now, sir."

Sal nodded. His heart was pumping another surge of adrenaline as the reality of his situation hit home. A death threat—thrown right through his bedroom window, setting his gold embroidered drapes on fire.

"The fire was extinguished almost immediately, so there is very little damage," Kell continued, and Sal looked up at him in surprise. He had just been thinking of the fire.

"Excellent," he said roughly, and he remembered he was going to try imitating Kell's cool demeanor.

"Sir, if I may be so bold," Kell started, waiting for Sal to nod his go-ahead before continuing. "I would like to personally oversee your safety and make it my new highest priority."

Sal's legs almost folded underneath him at the relief that flowed over him, but he forced himself to remain calm. He locked his knees and hoped he wasn't visibly shaking. "Thank you, General Kell. That would be most appreciated."

Sal thought he caught a glimpse of a smile on Kell's face, but then the man moved off to continue with his investigation, barking out orders to get the President's room cleaned up and the palace secured from any possible intruders. It was only after everyone had filtered away to accomplish their individual tasks that Sal look down and realize he was wearing nothing but his underwear.

Carson pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the headache to recede. This would be the second night in a row that he'd stayed up, and he was more grateful than ever for the nap he'd taken earlier. He flipped through the chart hanging off the end of General Tremek's bed. The man was in serious condition, but relatively stable for the moment.

He stared down at the still figure lying in the bed before him. The man was older, late fifties to early sixties, but he was fit and had obviously led a very active life. That might make all the difference between life and death. Just about every life-saving contraption the Satedans had was attached to the man, more intrusive than the equipment he was used to on Atlantis.

He shook his head in frustration. If they could bring the man back to Atlantis, he stood a much greater chance of surviving. He was stable at the moment, but he could still go either way. Carson had learned long ago not to offer any guarantees when it came to medicine. He checked the man's vitals one last time, ensuring everything was still as well as could be expected, then slipped out of the room into the hall.

It was either very late or very early, depending on when you had last gotten some sleep. Carson padded down the empty hallway to the next room wondering if he dared take a nap. At this point, he was likely to fall deep asleep. He sat on the edge of the bed, debating whether he trusted his exhausted body to wake up if there was an emergency with Tremek.

His thoughts turned to the night before and his vigil over Colonel Sheppard. John had been in quite a bit of pain at first, but true to form had hardly complained. The most Carson had gotten out of him was a few pained grunts, and then he'd willingly sunk into oblivion under the pain killers. Carson's thoughts jumped from the sight of John's bloodied back to Lorne's face. The bruise would turn all kinds of bright colors by morning, and Carson knew from long experience that it would look worse than it actually felt for many days to come.

He wondered if maybe he should have kept the Major at the hospital or if that would have been overkill. Lorne was certainly in no danger from that punch, but John's disappearance weighed heavily on his mind. Lorne had looked dead on his feet, but it was too late now. He couldn't very well wake the man up and have him come back to the hospital. Hopefully, all of them were in bed asleep. He'd so ordered once they radioed to tell him they'd all arrived safely, although he wasn't sure how much weight that had carried over the radio. Most likely they were all still awake, just as he was.

He slipped out of the room, intent on letting one of the nurses know he planned to take a nap so that she could wake him if needed. He was just closing the door to his small room when he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye.

He looked up, expecting to see a nurse or doctor, but the hallway was empty. He stared around in confusion. He was sure he'd seen someone. He walked a couple of steps, listening intently, but there was hardly a sound. Not even the Atlantis infirmary was this quiet, unless it was completely empty.

To his right, he saw the door to General Tremek's room was closed tightly. He was sure he'd left it open a few inches. If there was an emergency, he wanted to be able to get in there as fast as possible. He glanced down the hallway again, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the night duty nurse walking toward him. He waved her over, then stepped cautiously through the door.

The room was dark—darker than he'd left it—and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. He caught another flash of movement, a shadow outlined against the block of machines monitoring Tremek.

"What's going on in here? Who are you?" he burst out.

The shadow jolted, moving faster than Carson could have expected. He heard the blare of an alarm from one of the monitors when Tremek's stable condition suddenly plummeted, and then the silhouette leapt. He felt the side of his head explode in a starburst of pain as the shadow swung toward him.

Carson fell, unconscious before he even hit the floor.

TBC…