Out of Legends
by Soledad
Author's Notes:
For disclaimer, rating and other details see the Introduction.
Some elements might seem familiar from the three-parter "The Siege". However, let me assure you that they are, in fact, very different from the original.
Chapter 12 – Heroes, Part 1
Returning from another short trip to M85-393 – where they'd placed Dr. Zelenka's cleverly constructed marker and hid the relay unit among the orbital debris – Lieutenants Aiden Ford and Annalisa Lindstrom found Doctors McKay and Zelenka in the jumper bay… arguing, as always. McKay was wheeling in a trolley, on top of which was a fairly big case, with its lid open, and Zelenka was practically running after him, waving with some cables, trying to put them into the case. McKay stopped the trolley next to Jumper 2 and rolled his eyes.
"Radek, I've already told you that I can handle this alone! Isn't there something you could be doing? Like working on that virus of yours?"
"It's done," Zelenka replied. "I still think I should go on mission, though. Not that I'd wish to feed your ego – that's size of entire solar system already – but Atlantis can't afford to lose you. Sure, you probably know a little bit more about the satellite than I do..."
McKay snorted. "How incredibly generous of you!"
"... but you know a lot more about the city than I do," Zelenka continued, as if he hadn't heard the other man's sarcastic remark. It was a method of survival around McKay, really. One either ignored his remarks or one killed him in his sleep – which wasn't an alternative, since he was needed.
"Okay," McKay said smugly, "I think I see where this is going now."
Zelenka rolled his eyes but tried to stay reasonable; which, when one had to argue with McKay, was not an easy thing to do. "If, for whatever reason, there is problem there, it should be me, not you," he explained.
McKay waved him off impatiently. "There's not gonna be a problem."
Zelenka shook his head in exasperation. "Rodney, you don't know that."
"Oh, but you think we could afford to lose you?" McKay riposted. "Not that I wouldn't be invaluable everywhere…"
"I've said no such thing!" Zelenka interrupted, but McKay went on as if he hadn't heard.
"…but I'd rather die than to be left alone with all those imbeciles and morons who call themselves scientists. Besides, if we can't fix that heap of rusty metal, we'll just turn around and come back, so no need to panic, right?"
"You know what?" Zelenka turned away from him. "Forget about it. I take it back."
"Sorry..." McKay began, not looking sorry at all. On the contrary, he looked positively smug. But again, he looked smug most of the time, so it probably didn't really count.
"No!" riposted Zelenka, in the mistaken assumption that the other man wanted to apologize.
"...but you can't take it back because you've just admitted that I am smarter than you are!" continued McKay, ignoring his protest.
"I admitted no such thing!" Zelenka replied indignantly.
"I know it was hard for you to say," McKay declared in his usual, infuriating manner, "but the truth shone through and you were compelled to speak!"
"Hey, Dr. Z, McKay," Aiden interrupted before the argument could have turned really ugly. "Ready to do some satellite maintenance?"
"Actually, we should have left half an hour ago," McKay replied with a shrug, "but Grodin and Miller don't seem to know the meaning of hurry up and no time to waste, and, of course, Zippy here had to fuss about just everything."
Zelenka gave him a murderous glare, and Lisa pulled in her neck, because the usually friendly little Czech could get frighteningly angry if pushed too far. Right now, his eyes were literally blazing.
"You… you're miserable little man!" he spat, showing between thumb and forefinger just how little McKay in his eyes was.
"Yes, yes, you've already told me that about, oh, I don't know, four times or so," McKay said impatiently. He then closed the lid on the case and looked at Zelenka. "Let's not ruin the moment here, huh?" he added, shaking the smaller man's hand, a little awkwardly. "Now… since neither Peter nor I will be there in the next day or so, go back to the Gate room and.. keep an eye on my city for me while I'm gone, huh?"
Zelenka looked at him with a grave expression, which, paired with his scruffy appearance and Einsteinesque hair, was hilariously funny, at least in Lisa's eyes. Or perhaps it was just the nerves going through with him. It happened these days.
"Good luck," the little Czech said solemnly, and McKay waved.
"Right, right. Now, get going!"
Zelenka walked out, muttering angrily under his breath in Czech. Aiden and Lisa followed him, nearly colliding with Dr. Grodin and Lt. Miller – an Air Force pilot in his mid-thirties, with almost shockingly pale blue eyes – who were hurrying into the jumper bay at the same time.
"How nice of you to finally show up," McKay welcomed them sarcastically. "Do you think that we might actually, you know, start this mission before the Wraith arrive?"
The rest of the discussion was lost for Aiden and Lisa as the hangar door closed behind them.
"What now?" Lisa asked, still grinning. Despite their quirks, Doctors McKay and Zelenka were an endless well of entertainment, especially in the same room.
Aiden shrugged, but before he could say anything, the alarm klaxons began to how, and Eddie Wong's voice sounded on the citywide connection.
"Unscheduled offworld activation. Security to the Gate room! This is not a drill!"
"Gate room!" Aiden and Lisa said in unison and began to run.
When they reached the Gate room, Aiden's unit, led by a grim-faced Sergeant Bates, had already taken up position, aiming their weapons at the Gate. Aiden and Lisa, still carrying their rifles from the mission, followed suit, without being asked to do so.
"What's going on, Sergeant?" Aiden asked Bates.
Major Vogel's coming in hot from M1M-316, sir," Bates replied.
"Planet Waterfall?" Aiden frowned, but then he realized his mistake. "Nah, it's the other one, right?"
Bates nodded. "They ran into some sort of resistance. I'm thinkin' Wraith."
"Wraith?!" Aiden repeated doubtfully. "That can't be. I've been there with you, Gene, that planet was uninhabited!"
"It was," Bates agreed, "but we didn't have Teyla with us that time."
"And Major Vogel does?" Aiden asked in surprise.
"He borrowed her from Sheppard," Bates scowled. "For her people skills! I warned him, but when do officers listen to us, lowly grunts?"
Before Aiden could have taken offence, the Gate swooshed open. Major Vogel, Teyla, and a trio of Bundeswehr soldiers, plus Dr. Moosekian, their resident scientist, ran backwards out of it, firing into the wormhole continually, until the Gate shut down.
Bates ran over to them and glared at the new military commander of Atlantis accusingly. "I told you she was a liability, sir! I told you not to let Major Sheppard's personal feelings endanger this facility any longer, but you just wouldn't listen!"
Teyla whirled around, clearly ready to hit the Sergeant. "What?!" she demanded.
Bates turned to her. "Look, I'm not accusing you of doing it intentionally, but the Wraith must be getting information from you! After all, you can't shut them out when they choose to get into your head and take over, can you? We've all seen it!"
Major Vogel ran a hand through his spiky – and now damp and matted – blond hair. It was only then that Aiden spotted an ugly, bleeding scratch on that handsome face, going from his temple across one cheek, down to his jawline. Whatever they might have encountered on that planet, Aiden began to doubt that it was a Wraith.
"Calm down, Sergeant," Vogel said, accepting a clean handkerchief from Lisa and dabbing the blood from his face with a pained grimace. He was the most fastidious man Aiden had eve met, which was strange, coming from a professional soldier. But again, he was also a lawyer, which explained a lot. "It wasn't the Wraith. It was…" he looked at Dr. Moosekian in honest confusion. "What the hell was that in your opinion, Doc?"
"Some sort of carnivorous reptile," the scruffy little Armenian replied with a shrug. "Closely related to the T-Rex, I'd say."
"So, I take it you don't recommend the planet as an Alpha site, Major?" Dr. Weir asked, leaning over the railing of her balcony to get the gist of the discussion.
Vogel shook his head. "It wouldn't be my first choice, no. Fighting dinosaurs for the place doesn't make a safe refuge."
"I just hope Rodney will manage to get that satellite online," Dr. Weir sighed, "because we're running out of options."
Peter Grodin had a very bad feeling about this mission. Unlike his fellow Atlantians, he couldn't see a symbol of hope in the Ancient satellite that had already cost them the horrible deaths of two promising young scientists. On the contrary: he felt a cold shiver running down his spine whenever he looked at the image of that giant metallic thistle on the viewscreen of the co-pilot's instrument board where he was currently sitting. As if someone had just walked over his grave.
For someone as English to the bones as Grodin, he was remarkably unaffected by common suspicions. He was that rare Englishman who calmly opened his umbrella within the house, who walked under a ladder without a second thought, and cheerfully ignored all those little things that one shouldn't do. He hardly ever dreamed (and if he did, he never remembered his dreams afterwards), he didn't accept 'hunches' as reliable aspects of the deciding process, and the only things he believed in were hard scientific facts.
And yet his heart slowly filled with dread as they were approaching their goal, slowly but steadily.
He didn't even listen to the banter between Miller and McKay – Rodney, wearing his spacesuit already, yet still holding the helm in his hands, was panicking as usual – so morbidly fascinated he was by the satellite. It could be seen with the naked eye now and was growing in size from minute to minute.
"Doctor Weir," their pilot spoke into the comm, "Miller here. We're approaching the satellite. ETA at the docking facility in about fourteen minutes."
"Acknowledged," Theresa Weir replied with crisp efficiency. Then her voice took on that warm, almost motherly manner that had made Peter like her so much in the first place. "You're on the other side of the solar system, boys, so be careful out there."
Miller grinned. Just like Peter, he had a mild crush on their leader; one of the completely harmless sort. They simply admired her, and they were not alone. It would have been hard to find someone who didn't like Theresa Weir. Not impossible, but not an easy task, either.
"Understood, Ma'am," he replied; then he glanced back at McKay. "Ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," McKay picked up his helmet and walked into the rear of the jumper. "Okay, close the bulkhead doors."
Miller wished him good lucky, then he activated the control to close the bulkhead doors between the cockpit and the passenger area. McKay was putting on his helmet as the doors closed. Peter watched the simulation of the jumper approaching the docking port of the satellite, the dead weight in the pit of his stomach getting heavier with every moment.
"Good luck, Rodney," he murmured, but for some reason he couldn't really believe in that luck.
Aiden caught up with Major Vogel when the latter handed his rifle to one of the Marines and left the Gate room.
"Do you think that Gene… I mean Sergeant Bates is right about Teyla, sir?" he asked. "Somehow I find it hard to imagine that she'd help the Wraith, willingly or unwillingly."
"That's yet to be determined, Lieutenant," the major said thoughtfully. "What if she's not fully in control of what information she gives away? If she can look into the mind of the Wraith, perhaps the Wraith could read her mind, too."
"So you agree with Gene?" Aiden tried to clarify.
"The Sergeant is a smart man," Vogel replied. "If it's his opinion that Teyla should not be allowed to move freely around this base of operations, I'd not reject his concerns out of hand. But again, I'm not as emotionally attached to her as Major Sheppard… or you, for that matter."
Aiden shook his head. "Sir, this is gonna have a bad end. Accusing an Athosian of serving the Wraith is the greatest possible insult, and Teyla is a very proud woman. I've warned Gene to check his accusations, but he wouldn't listen."
Vogel shrugged. "What could possibly happen? We're all on the same side here."
They turned around a corner, just in time to see Teyla elbow Bates viciously in the face.
"That could happen," Aiden pointed out, running to restrain Bates, who was already heading back towards Teyla for a fight. Simultaneously, Major Vogel grabbed Teyla to prevent her from hitting Bates again.
"What's going on here?" he demanded, his harsh German accent thickening, as a sure sign that he was getting angry.
"I was simply stating an opinion, Major," Teyla hissed with glittering eyes, trying to free herself from his grip.
"She attacked me!" Bates spat, trying to shake off Aiden.
"And for good reason!" Teyla retorted.
"Really?" Major Vogel was still keeping her in an iron grip. "And what reason would that be?"
"My guess would be the Wraith!" Bates snarled, struggling to get past Aiden
"Gene," Aiden was speaking in a low, even voice – his command voice that his men had learned to recognize lately. "Walk away."
"Sir!" The shocked betrayal in the Sergeant's eyes was hard for Aiden to see, but he couldn't back off now. This situation needed to be cleared, and it needed to be cleared now.
"I said walk away, Sergeant!" he repeated, giving Bates' rank an extra emphasis.
Bates shook himself free of Aiden and pointed at Teyla threateningly. "This isn't over!" he announced. Then he shot his commanding officer a look full of wounded disbelief and stormed off.
"I would be disappointed if it were," Teyla called after him, still mad as hell.
"Teyla," Aiden said tiredly, "leave it be. It's gone far enough. I'm not sure I can clear this mess up any time soon."
"What do you mean?" Major Vogel asked. "You've managed the situation quite well, in my opinion."
Aiden shook his head. "I've sided with an outsider against a member of my team… a team that's still more Gene's than it would ever be mine. And they've just begun to accept me… Now that I've taken Teyla's side against Gene, I can forget it. The men will say that I still prefer my old team to them, when it comes hard to hard. They'll never trust me again… not for a long while anyway."
Major Vogel, being a soldier himself, understood his meaning. "Can I do anything to help, Lieutenant?" he asked.
"Nah," Aiden replied with a sigh. "That's something I'll have to get through myself."Peter Grodin watched anxiously the docking of the puddle jumper, as simulated on his small control screen. He could see as the airlock in the docking port irised open to reveal an octagonal room inside. McKay was carefully lowering himself down through the airlock, caught hold of a metal ladder on one of the walls and started making his way down, using just his hands. He had the naquadah generator attached to his EVA suit by a cable; it floated free as he descended.
He was panting heavily, and Peter felt vaguely guilty. He was almost as good with this particular kind of technology as Rodney, and unlike Rodney, he was not claustrophobic.
"Are you all right, Rodney?" he asked over the comm.
"Yes," Rodney answered impatiently. "Why?"
"Well, you're breathing pretty heavily," Peter said. "Are you feeling a little claustrophobic?"
"Yeah, a little," Rodney admitted. "How much air do these things hold anyways?"
Peter looked at Miller, who'd used to be in NASA's space shuttle programme before joining the Stargate project. "Lieutenant?"
"Eight hours," Miller answered promptly. "That should be enough, even with the heavy breathing. Don't worry, Doc, the guys at NASA calculate such things in."
Rodney's only answer was an indignant snort, but Peter laughed silently and could have kissed Miller. That little morsel of sarcasm had been exactly what he'd needed to ease his unusual tension.
"You're going to be fine," he told Rodney.
"That's easy for you to say," Rodney retorted. "You're not the one with the eight hours limit on the breathing!"
Peter smiled and looked at Miller who rolled his eyes and grinned. For a while, they remained silent, waiting for Rodney to reach the control chamber of the satellite. They had no video feed from there, so all they could do was to wait for Rodney to report in.
After about ten minutes or so, finally Rodney's voice could be heard through the comm. It sounded positively insulted. "It's completely dead!"
Peter closed his eyes in disappointment. His previous good mood was gone and the feeling of dead returned. "Well, we thought as much," was all he could reply without his voice breaking, and be blocked out Rodney's babbling about looking up the naquadah generator as much as he could.
In fact, he blocked out his surroundings so completely that he'd not even realized when Rodney had got life support running and Miller had pressurized the airlock. He nearly got a heart attack when the lieutenant gently tapped on his shoulder.
"Doctor Grodin? Can you hear me?"
"Yes, of course," Peter had himself under control again within a moment. "Forgive me, Lieutenant, I was… elsewhere with my thoughts."
To his credit, Miller didn't ask any questions. He simply opened the lower door of the airlock and – after giving themselves a push – they slowly floated into the control room.
"Oh, you two have finally decided to join me, huh?" Rodney asked. "Peter, do you think you could go down and bring the primary power online, should you not have anything important to do?"
Peter was severely tempted to answer something… rude, but then decided against giving Rodney that kind of satisfaction. "Light would be helpful," was all he said.
"Light, right," Rodney was doing something near the top of the room, where he was floating in a horizontal position. "Here we go!"
He must have activated something, because the lights came on in the room. Careful as not to touch anything that might be a button, a switch or a sensor control, Peter pushed himself downward until he reached the viewscreen of the power controls. It came alive at his touch and blinked in a configuration that seemed familiar to him.
"Primary power online," he told the others. Then he pushed himself off from a wall and floated over to a viewscreen on the other side of the room. "Looks like life support's now at a hundred percent." He studied the schematics for a moment. "And I think I found the switch to initialise the gravity…"
He pushed the switch without listening to Rodney's mumbling above his head. The gravity came on instantly, followed by a scream and a loud crash. Peter whirled around and stared in shock at Rodney, who had apparently just plummeted about twenty feet and was now lying on the floor, flat on his belly, groaning in pain. Miller, who had been hanging onto something when the gravity came on, looked down in horror.
"Sorry," Peter offered a feeble apology. "I assumed it would come on more slowly."
McKay gave him a dirty look. "Well, you assumed with my life!"
That was, unfortunately, very true, but Peter was not going to fuel Rodney's temper tantrum. "You'll be fine," he said, sharper than he had actually intended. "It was just a little bump."
Which it was not, and they both knew that. Fortunately, Rodney gave the goal of their current mission the priority before personal matters… not that he wouldn't get back at Peter for that remark. That was another fact they're both aware of.
"Well?" he demanded. "What have you got?"
Peter consulted his small, hand-held device – the Ancient equivalent of a palmtop, just infinitely more effective. "Looks like every system is back online – except for the weapon."
"Ah, details," McKay waved off his concern and thanked Miller, who, having made it down to the floor in the meantime, now walked across to help him to his feet. Then he glared at Peter darkly. "Thank you so much! Oooh!" He turned and stretched, producing a loud scrunching noise from his spine. "Yeah – that's permanent vertebra damage! That's back pain!"
Miller patted him on the shoulder. "That would never stop you, Doc, and you know that."
The unexpected compliment surprised Rodney a little, and he blinked for a moment. "Right," he then said. "Let's go to work!"
Staff Sergeant Adam Stackhouse liked night patrols. Atlantis was so quiet at nighttime – almost peaceful. Without all the industrious activity around him he could almost forget that Jamie was dead. He could indulge in the comforting fantasy that his best-friend-since-the-sandbox was still somewhere in the city, playing cards with his buddies, and losing terribly, as Jamie's face had always been like an open book.
Or that he was with Anais in their quarters.
Markham and Stackhouse had been the first Marines to go native and gotten married to an Athosian woman… to the same Athosian woman, in fact, adopting the Athosian custom of clan marriages. Well, technically Dr. Zelenka had been the first one, but Dr. Zelenka was a civilian and a foreigner, so the Marines were willing to overlook his… indiscretion. It had taken them a lot longer to accept the same from their own. Some of them still hadn't gotten over it.
Stackhouse didn't really care. The arrangement between him, Jamie and Anais was a good one that gave all three of them a solid grounding in the chaos that was life in the Pegasus galaxy. And now that Jamie was no more, it was an incredibly comforting thought that Anais was still there, pregnant with Jamie's baby. For some reason, they had decided that Jamie should be the one to father Anais' first child – and now, in hindsight, Stackhouse was grateful for that decision. At least something of his best friend would survive
Mrs. Markham would be happy to know that Jamie had given her at least one grandchild. It was a shame, really, that she'd never learn about it. It was a shame that the last thing he'd heard was the news of Jamie's death – and that she wouldn't even have a body to bury.
Stackhouse shook himself, then turned in to Generator Station One, the next checkpoint of his patrol – and froze. A motionless body was lying on the floor, on its back, like a broken doll.
His shock only lasted for a moment, then training kicked in. He was a veteran of Iraq, after all, fallen comrades were nothing new for him. He activated his radio, his voice crisp and professional, as he reported over the tannoy. "Major, we have a situation at Generator Station One."
Only when his report had been acknowledged did he bend over the unconscious body of Bates to seek for a pulse in the man's neck. He found one, though it was frighteningly weak. Bates' face was badly bruised, with blood streaming from his nose. But at least he was still alive – barely.
When Major Sheppard and Lieutenant Ford came running in, Stackhouse was a bit surprised. Then he understood that he'd instinctively alarmed Sheppard instead of Major Vogel – which could cause problems, if their new commander chose to take offence. At the moment, though, Stackhouse's main concern was Bates.
"What's the problem?" Sheppard asked.
"It's Bates, sir," Stackhouse replied. "He's been attacked."
"Attacked?" Sheppard repeated in disbelief. "By whom?"
Stackhouse shrugged. "Haven't got the faintest, sir."
"All right, we'll look into it later," Sheppard activated his radio. "Infirmary, this is Sheppard. Get a medical team down to Generator Station One, now!"
About an hour later, Majors Vogel and Sheppard were finally allowed to walk into the IC ward of the Infirmary. They found Bates still unconscious, with a breathing tube in his mouth and various IV-tubes connected to his arm – and Aiden Ford sitting at his bedside.
"Ford!" Sheppard said in surprise. "What the hell are you doing in here?"
Aiden shrugged. "I'm his CO, sir. My place is here."
"That's commendable, Lieutenant," Ralph Vogel commented. "I'm a bit surprised, though, that Dr. Beckett let you in. It's… unusual."
Aiden shrugged again. "I used the puppy-eyed routine. Works every time like a charm."
"I heard that, Lieutenant!" Carson Beckett, exhaustion clearly written into his face, walked up behind him. "See if I ever do you another favour."
Aiden was about to answer in kind, but Major Vogel interrupted their teasing. "Is Sergeant Bates going to be all right, doctor?"
"It's still hard to tell," Beckett admitted with a sigh. "He's got five broken ribs, a fractured collarbone, and the concussion was quite severe."
Vogel winced. He'd broken his collarbone once and knew what a painful thing that could be. "When can we talk to him?" he asked.
Beckett shook his head. "We can't. I put him in a medically induced coma until the subdural haematoma can be dealt with."
"I see," Vogel bit his lower lip in frustration. "We won't be finding out what happened from him any time soon, then."
"Not bloody likely," Beckett agreed."
"Which means we have no lead at all to follow," Vogel said.
"Well," Aiden looked up at him uncomfortably, "Teyla and Bates got into it pretty badly yesterday, sir."
"That's true, of course," Vogel said slowly.
Sheppard shot them an outraged look. "A fistfight and a beating like this are a long drive apart, Ford!" he said.
"I understand that, sir," Aiden replied patiently, "but the fact is, they were in a fight; and they were both looking forward to continue it."
Vogel nodded. "I had the same impression. I believe we'll have to question Teyla about this."
"That's ridiculous!" Sheppard looked at Beckett. "Can you help us find out who did this?"
Beckett nodded. "I'm having a forensic exam of both his body and clothing performed right now. Dr. Biro will have the results in no time."
"Let us know what you find out," Vogel ordered; then he activated his radio. "Herr Naseband? Vogel here. Would you, please, escort Teyla to my office and make sure she remains there until I arrive? Oh, and ask Herr Kirkitadze to join us. Danke."
"What do you think you're doing?" Sheppard exploded.
Vogel didn't even flinch. "Don't you want to hear her side of the story?" he asked calmly.
The questioning in Major Vogel's office had the unpleasant taste of an investigation. Especially with the forbidding presence of Sevarion Kirkitadze and with the big, bald-headed German security chief, Michael Naseband, looming in the background. But Teyla was used to potentially hostile encounters and wouldn't lose her calm.
"You do not think I had anything to do with the attack on Sergeant Bates?" she asked, taking the initiative.
"Of course not," Sheppard assured her hurriedly.
But Aiden didn't look quite so sure. You and Gene did get into it pretty good yesterday, Teyla… and it's no secret that the two of you can't quite see eye to eye.
"You know me, Aiden." Teyla was shaken that he would doubt her, after all they'd gone through together, although she realized that she should have. Bates and the others were Aiden's people, just like the Athosians were hers. It was only natural that he'd side with them, when it came too hard.
"I never would have taken it that far," she stated simply, schooling her face carefully to hide her disappointment. She'd given up so much to help these people; that they'd still treat her as an outsider of questionable intents was hard to bear.
"Willing as I am to believe you, I'm afraid such a simple statement isn't enough to rule out the suspicions altogether," Kirkitadze said. "Where were you last night?"
Teyla looked at him in surprise. "I was here, in my room," she replied. Where, did they think, should she have been? Waylaying Bates at Generator Station One?
"The whole night?" Kirkitadze asked.
"Yes," she answered simply.
"Was there anywhere with you?" Kirkitadze continued, and she glared at him angrily for such clear violence of her privacy.
"No," she said, her voice cooling considerably.
Sheppard scratched his head, making his hair look even worse than usual. It was almost as bad as Dr. Zelenka's now.
"So there's no way of knowing whether you blacked out or not," he said, his voice resigned.
"No," she said slowly, finally understanding the question. They were looking for witnesses. Witnesses who could either vouch for her innocence – or prove her guilt.
It was nothing personal. It still made her mad, though.
"I have no way of proving it, no," she said icily, "but I did not leave my room last night – I am sure of it."
But despite her defiant words, she wasn't sure, not entirely – and neither were the others, with the possible exception of Sheppard. Could she truly blame them? Was it really impossible that the Wraith had messed with her mind, causing her hurting people without her even knowing it?
"I did not leave my room," she repeated, but she could tell they didn't believe her.
Kirkitadze sighed and shook his head. "I'm afraid we can't take any risks," he said. "I must ask you to return to your quarters and remain there, until this… assault is cleared up or we have to evacuate Atlantis. Herr Naseband will escort you back."
"You can't do that!" Sheppard protested.
"On the contrary," Kirkitadze said. "I've been given sufficient authority in legal matters, to deal with military and civilian personnel alike – and with any possible locals. I'm sorry, but I must insist that Teyla remain under arrest, at least until Dr. Beckett's forensic investigation is finished."
Sheppard tried to protest again but was silenced by Major Vogel. Aiden looked away guiltily when Teyla was escorted out of the office.
"Was that truly necessary, sir?" he asked Vogel when Teyla was out of earshot.
Vogel nodded. "I'm afraid so, Lieutenant. I'll formally apologise by her if she turns out completely innocent, but with so much at stake, we just can't take that kind of risk. I'm sure Teyla understands. She used to be the leader of her people, she knows what responsibility is."
"Oh, I'm sure she'll understand," Aiden said grimly. "I'm just not sure she'll forget."
Aboard the Ancient satellite, McKay, Grodin, and Miller were still trying to figure out why the dratted weapon wouldn't go online. It was really frustrating. They'd realized it wasn't a power generation problem, as the naquadah was pumping out more than enough energy to operate it. As a directed energy beam weapon, it ran off a relatively low-yield charge, which meant that it had to be continually building up a charge in some kind of a buffer, or a capacitor, until it's discharged, as McKay had pointed out.
So they were looking for something like that, with an interactive guide to Ancient technology that had been uploaded into their palmtop-like devices, thanks to Dr. Zelenka's ingenuity. The little gizmos could directly transfer data to the wireless laptop set up on one of the consoles, which then correlated all incoming data and built the Ancient tech database further up as it went on.
"I think I found something," Peter said, walking over to the laptop and typing in a few data requests. "Yes, I think this is it. Right now the buffer's at ninety percent."
"Okay," McKay replied in relief, "so power's getting to the buffer, it's just not getting to the actual weapon. Which is strange. Can you find me a diagnostic programme?"
"If it's similar to the ones we have in Atlantis, I can try," Peter answered, trying to find his bearing among the numerous screens and control panels. Not even the years working with Ancient tech – first at the SGC, then on Antarctica and finally in Atlantis – had prepared him for the surprises the Pegasus galaxy came up with every other day. "There must be one here."
McKay looked at his watch pointedly. "Well, we've got twenty-nine hours till showtime, so let's hope we don't have to order parts, huh?"
They worked furiously for about another hour or so. It was McKay, in the end, who found the necessary schematics, which showed that power was supposed to run internally from the buffer to the weapon. The satellite must have taken a hit during its last battle with the Wraith, which had most likely damaged the main power conduit.
Peter went around to check another control panel on the other side of the room. "We need to reroute the power from our buffer to the actual weapon," he said, thinking loud. "If we can do that, it will arm."
"See, now, your masterful grip on the blatantly obvious continues to impress me, Peter," McKay told his back.
Peter turned around, briefly contemplating the idea to throttle him, then reluctantly giving it up as he realized that Miller and he wouldn't be able to do this alone. "Thank you."
McKay paid him no attention, as usual, already looking for a way to reroute power around the damaged conduits. After a while, he seemed to find something and pointed at some circuits indicated on one of the screens. "Where are these?"
Peter checked it on his own control screen and sighed. "They're outside."
McKay paled visibly. "What do you mean outside?"
"Look," Peter went back to him, typed in a few instructions, and Rodney's screen gave a better indication of the location of the circuits on the outside of the satellite. "See?"
"Oh, great!" McKay groaned.
Peter nodded. "Someone will need to EVA."
"I'm so not going," McKay declared. "There's nothing to hang on to."
Peter shrugged, starting to get fed up with Rodney's hysterics. "I'm not saying it will be easy – or safe."
They exchanged resigned looks. There was no other way, and they knew it. But it didn't mean that they had to like it.
"Okay," McKay sighed, "so who goes?"
There was a moment of silence. Nobody in his right mind would volunteer for such a task. Finally Peter shrugged. "We could draw straws," he suggested, in a lame effort to make a joke.
McKay rolled his eyes. "Oh, brilliant! Okay, Miller, break out the straws!"
"It doesn't have to be straws!" Peter felt his patience running out rapidly. He was frightened and nervous and could just not deal with Rodney's crap atop of everything else they had to deal with.
But before he could explode, Miller interrupted them. "I'll go."
"What?" McKay stared at the lieutenant in honest surprise. He was relieved that someone else would put on that dratted spacesuit, but Miller? "Do you think you're qualified to fix it?"
Miller shrugged. "I'm a passable enough engineer, and you can always instruct me from the puddle jumper, sir."
"Have you ever done anything like that, Lieutenant?" Peter asked quietly.
Unexpectedly, Miller grinned at him. "I spent six months aboard the International Space Station while it was being built, sir. Doing repairs in an EVA suit is something I used to do every other day."
"And you're telling this me now?" McKay glared at him accusingly.
"It's in my file," Mille replied with a shrug. "You just never considered us military types to be of any use… sir."
"Well, I for my part am grateful not to be the one who goes out there," Peter said hurriedly before McKay could get into another temper tantrum. "But are you sure you're up to it, Miller?"
"Very sure, sir," Miller answered reassuringly. "And let's face it, I'm the best suited to do EVA of the three of us."
That was certainly true, and so McKay and Miller left for the puddle jumper that took off from the docking port a few minutes later. Peter remained in the satellite, his stomach in a nervous knot again. If they didn't manage to get the weapon online, and that very soon… He felt like a goldfish in a way too small aquarium, with a hungry cat staring at him through the glass.
He began to feel sympathy for Rodney's claustrophobia.
Miller's calm voice shook him out of his fugue. "We're away."
"It's not much more than thirty metres from the docking port," Peter told him. "Just watch your screen, it will show you the spot."
"Understood," Miller replied. A few minutes later he added in a somewhat muffled voice, apparently speaking to Rodney. "We're in position, sir. Take over, and I'll get into the EVA suit."
For a while, there was silence, aside from McKay's muttering as his overactive brain was working on autopilot. Finally Miller reported that he was ready.
"Okay," McKay said. "Hold on to something. I'm gonna vent the atmosphere and disengage the artificial gravity in the rear compartment. Are you floating yet?"
"Positive," Miller's amused voice replied, sounding just a bit distorted through the radio of the spacesuit.
"Okay," McKay said. "Opening the rear hatch. Where are you?"
"Just leaving the rear of the jumper," Miller's voice wasn't the tiniest bit amused any longer. "If you'd let me focus now… this is the tricky part…"
Amazingly enough, McKay managed to shut up. Peter switched one of the screens to external view and watched anxiously as Miller launched himself into space. His inertia carried him towards the satellite, where he bounced gently off one section and worked his way around a protruding piece of the station to the next section with amazing skill. Apparently, all those repair trips aboard the ISS paid off.
Although, considering how hard he thumped into the wall of the second section, perhaps his spacewalking skills had become a little… rusty, after all.
"I made it," he finally reported, groaning a little.
"Good," McKay replied. "Let's take a look at the first panel. And switch on your helm camera, so that we can see the damage, too."
"Sure, doc," Miller removed a panel, revealing an area of the exterior that was badly damaged, as if it had been hit by some kind of energy weapon.
"This is bad," McKay said nervously. "This is very, very bad! I'm not sure we can fix this.
"You can fix anything," Peter replied, trying to calm him down, because if he was panicking, McKay was no good for them.
"Who told you that?" McKay riposted, still not having his nerves entirely under control, and who could blame him? The survival of the entire expedition had depended on him so many times, it ought to get on his nerves eventually. Peter just wished his timing had been better.
"You did, on several occasions," Peter said dryly. "Now, calm down and help Miller getting that weapon online. The man needs your help, you know!"
Paradoxically, his sarcasm seemed to push Rodney's mind back onto the right path.
"Right, right," he said. "Miller, could you pull off that panel completely, so that we can have a better look inside?"
"As long as you don't expect me to put it back again," Miller was already doing so, setting the panel adrift in space.
"Ha, ha, very funny!" but Rodney wasn't in true rant mode; Peter could hear the trembling of his voice. "Okay, let's take a look at this. It seems that the main power conduit's been severed. There may be some way to us to reroute it, so it's going through secondary conduits…"
"Sounds like some sort of quadruple bypass," Peter commented.
"Right," McKay said. "Cold you help us identify potential secondary conduits from there?"
Peter shrugged, though the others couldn't see it, of course. "I can try."
"Well, get started then," McKay's voice rose again. "We're only gonna have time to try this once!"
As he'd stated earlier, Miller was a decent engineer and used to working in an EVA suit under zero-g conditions. However, laying a quadruple bypass, even following the instructions of one extremely talented Rodney McKay, wasn't an easy thing. As genial as McKay could be when working himself, as challenged proved he be when it came to instructing someone to do the same work.
After two hours, Peter began to regret that they hadn't drawn straws, after all. Or done rock, paper, scissors. Or whatever equivalent they could have come up with instead. With a bit of luck, McKay would have been sorted out to do the EVA, and in that case, all three of them would be sitting safely in the puddle jumper by now, heading away from the satellite and from the approaching Wraith armada.
The knot in his stomach started tightening again.
"All right," Miller's relieved voice finally came through the headset. "That's all I can do from here. Is power getting through?"
Peter checked the screens carefully. "Yes, he replied with equal relief. "Yes, the power is getting through."
"Oh, thank God!" McKay sighed audibly. "Okay, Miller, you can end this EVA. Peter, we're gonna come in and pick you up, and then get the hell out of here."
"Sounds like a plan," Peter agreed, the weight in the pit of his stomach starting to unknot…
… until he saw Miller push himself away from the satellite, floating towards the opened rear hatch of the puddle jumper… and missing it y barely a metre or so.
"Oh God! "McKay's panicked whisper came through the comm. "Oh God, oh God, oh God…"
"Rodney, snap out of it!" Peter tried to suppress the hysterical overtone of his own voice. "Focus, dammit! Can you pick him up?"
"No, he can't," Miller answered instead of McKay. "That would require a level of precision flight he won' be able to. A manoeuvre like that would require Major Sheppard… or possibly Vogel or Lindstrom. McKay, go back and get Grodin out of there before the Wraith arrive. I still have more than five hours' worth of air to breathe. You can try to fish me out of space later."
But they all knew that would not happen. The best Rodney could hope for was to get Peter out of the satellite… with much, much luck. Miller was their pilot, and without him, they had only a slim chance to get back to Atlantis at all.
Not that either of them would admit it.
"Right," Rodney said nervously. "Satellite first."
Peter only hoped that he'd be able to dock the puddle jumper without help in his current mindset.
TBC
(For the next two chapters, we'll remain in Atlantis, before switching to the Andromeda again.