Chapter Twenty
A dream. A nightmare. The pain and agony of being impaled on a stake. The Unseeing Face. That changed. Replaced by that of McAdam. Eyes pleading with him. Finish me. A dagger in Sheppard's hands. Hesitant. McAdam screamed, and Sheppard dropped the dagger, to use his hand to suck all life out of the marine. Him. Sheppard. With his bare hand took the life of McAdam. The marine fell to the ground. And Sheppard's hand dripped with the marine's blood. 'That oughta kill ya.' He didn't care. But it was wrong. He did care. The dream was wrong. McAdam had fallen but it was Sheppard's own chest that bled... no...
He woke.
A second to adjust to reality. Surreal though that reality was. Two Wraith were in the chamber now. In the mist. Todd. And Todd's medicine man he guessed. Wraith always had the leering look of some mad dog with x ray vision, as if eying up your bones to gnaw. This Wraith was worse than some. And Sheppard was going to let this guy do cosmetic surgery on him? Yeah. At the earliest opportunity Sheppard had got to go and see that shrink and have that heart to heart.
"The Wraith I was referring to earlier," explained Todd, nodding, apparently anxious that Sheppard, after his forty winks, hadn't forgotten anything.
His heart sank as the Wraith pushed forward some sort of clumsy trolley, clad over-heavily in leather, reminding him of an old doctor's bag. Like one Dr. Jekyll might own. His box of tricks.
Todd couldn't mean him any harm? If Todd had meant him any harm, he could simply feed on him? Put him in a cocoon?
Or he was going to torture him? That could happen? But there were other means, other simpler means of going about that too. Wasn't there?
But this Wraith, Jekyll, had been one of Michael's assistants? But if they were going to experiment on him, it just wouldn't need that fancy story of saving the Universe, would it?
Though Sheppard had no idea how they were going to set about this. Thoughts of the infirmary. Hospital as a child. The best private medical care his father could afford. When he was told, blow by blow what exactly was going to happen. To set his mind at ease. He guessed he was going to get none of that here.
Sheppard attempted to sit himself up which still proved hard work for him, shuffling onto his side, leaning on one elbow – more to get a look at that box than anything. Jekyll laid a hand on his shoulder. Oddly gently, but not all that reassuring.
"Remain where you are. I require you to be lying down," he instructed.
Sheppard slumped down. Still trying his damn hardest to get a peek at where Jekyll's hands were working deep inside that box.
"You're going to change my face," and he felt his cheeks. A good day's beard. You'd think that would be enough of a disguise. "Do I get any requests? More handsome?"
Todd snorted and Sheppard glanced his way where he stood leaning on one of the room's pillars. He noticed again how weary Todd looked. Nothing was exactly instilling him with confidence here.
A movement from Jekyll.
The smell hit him before the pad of cloth actually clamped on his mouth and nose.
Chloroform?-
His own hands instinctively went up to pull Jekyll's away.
Nothing there to pull with...
No strength. Hands slipping away. Tears that hurt. Breath that bled his surrender.
Todd's face. Nodding. Merging with the mists.
Nothingness.
-oAo-
"Beer, Rodney?" Teyla came up behind him and leant on the balcony rail beside him, breathing in the cool late evening air, apparently appreciative of the millions of twinkling little lights of the city. Well, it was a girl's thing to do.
Rodney glanced down at the half-empty can, gripped between two hands, as if he'd forgotten it was there. It had been some minutes ago since he'd last taken a sip. An hour since he'd started it. It'd probably gone flat by now – and warm in his hands.
"Yeah, well, drowning my sorrows, you know." Clichéd, but it felt very true. He'd come away from all the business of the lab, where he couldn't think, couldn't concentrate. No matter what that brain of his turned over, everything came back to Sheppard. And he wasn't supposed to even be thinking of Sheppard, now, was he? So he'd come here in a rare quiet moment – what? To get drunk? To numb the grey cells? So he couldn't think of Sheppard anymore? Well, that idea had failed. Some genius he was.
"It will be... ok, Rodney," and her eyes scanned the towers, and sparkled, catching all those twinkly lights. Even with the shadows cast, Rodney could make that out.
"Are you allowed to, um... say... ok?" Rodney hissed back with what he hoped would pass for a whisper and one that the Forfallen couldn't pick up. "I mean, being optimistic aren't you? Are we even allowed to be optimistic? After…" and he cleared his throat, "so soon after Sheppard's… 'death.' "
They were still trying to keep up this performance.
And he couldn't help it. He couldn't help glancing behind him. Through the open glass door. To the corridor beyond. As if they were there.
And that was stupid.
"Ok, I can't believe I just did that!" he said out loud. And took another slurp of his beer. Warm and flat. And pulled a face at that. A face that ought to convince the hardest of cynics that he truly was screwed up with mourning for a friend.
Teyla glanced back too and allowed a slight smile at his checking the area out, but how can you stop something like a long range mind scan?- if those things really existed – and he still couldn't decide.
"They are truly fearsome creatures," she agreed, sympathetic.
"Fearsome?" Teyla, for the most part, could speak half-decent Milky Way English and then there were those times when words came out that were pure Fairy Tale as it is spoken.
Teyla playfully punched his arm. And with Teyla behind the punch, that hurt a little. He tried not to show the wince.
"You understand my meaning, Rodney. I have seen them. Yes. Fearsome," she said, nodding with all of Teyla's usual earnestness. You could never laugh at Teyla, despite all her quaint turn of phrases.
"Then how can you be so sure everything will be ok?"
"Because I cannot believe it won't be ok."
"Because you'd go crazy otherwise?" Yes, he could empathise with that. He'd just spent the whole day going crazy. Not knowing what was going on with Sheppard.
"Yes. I would go crazy."
"And no reason other than that? No other redeeming features in this situation? You haven't sensed that, you know, he could have already have saved the day?"
And then with a loud voice, very theatrical, for their benefit, in case they were listening, though… he just had to be sceptical how Forfallen could ever do that, across vast distances. "This is theoretical, of course. Because how could any one who is dead possibly save the day? I really do wish I'd been able to go to Sheppard's funeral." More of the play-acting. "But I was so busy clearing up the fearsome mess made by those fearsome Forfallen." He'd always found a little praise pleased those who planned omnipotence.
"Yes, theoretically," and Teyla dipped her head, looking at him sideways in agreement, "if John had lived, we could have rested more easy. We would not have found the necessity to constantly check over our shoulders, for he could have defeated them. But there are those like him, who surely will defeat them yet. So yes. I remain optimistic. Though... I miss him."
Which was a nice ending to her charade.
"Yeah, ditto." And Rodney toyed with the can in his hands, swishing round the last of the contents, wondering idly about centrifugal force and how soon some would spill over onto his hands, when some did. He never got that quite right. Taking things to the edge.
"You haven't said..." and he knew it wasn't real, but how he was feeling right now, it might as well be real. "How the funeral went."
Ronon hadn't returned with Teyla. With his low opinion of Todd, they believed it best he stayed away. And Rodney hadn't asked Teyla. He didn't particularly like funerals real or fake.
"Moving. Touching. Though very... military." She chose the word with care.
His cap on the coffin. The flag. Those had been real enough memories, images that kept going through Rodney's head.
God, please, don't ever let it be truly, really… for real.
"Everything was in its place," continued Teyla. "Carried out with such… procedure. They fired guns over the grave. A salute they called it. Though I am uncertain of the place of guns at a funeral, however. I met John's brother. There is something of John in him. Tall in nature as well as stature. Independent of spirit. Perhaps a little stubborn."
"He lives on, huh?" And Rodney realised the double meaning of his words.
And Teyla reached over with her left hand and grasped his right.
"Yes, Rodney. He lives on. Always believe that."
-oAo-
Sheppard woke again. Skin prickly and sticky with cold sweat. Trembling. Seizing the blanket and drawing it up close round his neck and shoulders. The smell of the drug that had knocked him out, close and suffocating in the enclosed space round his face so he immediately threw the blanket off again. Body confused. Was he cold? Or hot? His head drummed, throbbed. And suddenly, he lent over the side of the bed, retching, his empty stomach producing nothing but a dribble of bile. He wiped a hand across his mouth, rolling over to his back again to stare to the blackness.
What had they done to him?
His still shaky fingers felt his face. Swollen. Sore. Stretched. Flushed and red. A whole list of adjectives that was just not nice. He felt round his nose. Mouth. Chin. Cheeks. All enlarged. Bloated. They'd given him the full botched cosmetic surgery job then? Injected him with something? There were no signs of cuts.
Though the beard remained.
He wondered if he'd be glad of a mirror. Or would he rather not know...?
He lifted his right hand, aware of the same raw soreness of his face along the length of his arm. And winced at the pain and stiffness when he moved. He frowned at some wide oily black strap that had been tied at his wrist that had all the appearance of a piece of kelp - and he sniffed – nearly confirming it – the strapping smelt as bad as rotted seaweed, and he fought back another wave of nausea. It was a Wraith dressing? And he had gangrene? How long had he been out? Todd had said they had to do this quickly. Couldn't have been long. Just long enough to butcher him...
The light was poor but he could see dried blood edging the sleeve of his tunic. He peeked under, making out the dark shadow of bruising that spread up his lower arm and he hastily rolled up his sleeve. Another strap at his elbow.
There had to be wounds there judging by the pain but his shaky ice-cold fingers, his hazy eyesight just couldn't manage the simple task of pulling at the strap at his wrist. They'd inserted the Wraith equivalent of an IV tube into his arm? Felt more like surgery. They'd removed some his metalwork? Why? He tugged at the strap more determined now to get answers and made out, despite his fuzzy vision, ugly black stitches.
Yeah. He'd been butchered.
He dropped his arm and slumped back into himself. No energy. They said he was to be given the Wraith enzyme. He nearly wished he could have some of that right now. In liquid form preferably, he was that thirsty.
"Water?"
He started. Jekyll. With a tumbler. Now that was creepy. He hadn't noticed he wasn't alone.
He tried to raise his himself to accept the offered drink but just couldn't muster the strength. And unashamedly didn't hold back with the moan. Forfallen hadn't killed him. Nor had Jekyll with that chloroform stuff. But his headache just might. Jekyll had to help him, sliding a hand beneath his head.
Now that was weird to be touched like that but he was just so glad of the water – and it was water – he was sure it was water. Not some Wraith stuff. Or something else to knock him out. And he drank thirstily, draining the whole tumbler, handing it back for another helping.
"No more, you may feel sick."
"Tell me about it," he rasped out as another wave of nausea made the room loop. Heck, they'd even messed with his vocal chords. His voice sounded deeper and had no accent. He rubbed at his neck hating the soreness of his skin there and the pain cutting all the way down his throat that hadn't been eased by the water.
His dog tags were missing.
When he'd been sure they'd been there earlier. And that brought it home to him, what exactly he might be letting himself in for.
Resigned, exhausted, he closed his eyes. Best not to do that. Jekyll might come and surprise him again. Got to keep his eyes on them. How his arm was feeling, the stupid thought came to him they might be dissecting him for spare parts.
He blinked. Todd there again. How did he get there? These guys move about so quietly, like the B movie special effects spooky mist around them. Had he dosed off again? Heck, he was out of shape and Todd expected him to save the Universe...
And... the Queen, who Todd was trying to hold back by standing firmly in front of her. The Queen's face full of anticipation, like a kid waiting for a prank to play off. She couldn't wait to get her hands on him then.
He struggled to sit up and this time managed it, despite his stiffness from the cold, pulling round the blanket to instil some warmth into his shivering body, propping his head and shoulders against the wall behind him, trying not to mind too much the sensation of gluckiness seeping through his tunic off its surface. The fact he was violently trembling and that he sought to control that sort of took over in precedence.
Todd, held his head to one side, like examining his handiwork.
"He is cold," he observed, with just a faint suggestion of surprise in his voice. Almost... no... this was Todd... but almost with concern.
The Queen bobbed, from one side of Todd to the other - in any other situation the sight could have been funny - trying to get a better view of his... suffering.
"Yeah, how about turning up the heating?" agreed Sheppard, through chattering teeth.
"It is not an infection?" frowned Todd, ignoring him, asking the question of Jekyll.
"Oh no. We cannot possibly have him ill, now, could we?" jeered the Queen, jigging about in the background even more, tugging on Todd's coat. "Would spoil all our plans, would it not, Commander?"
He brushed her off with an annoyed flick of his hand.
"He is simply weakened by his past ordeals," was Jekyll's learned opinion. And Sheppard wasn't sure if he found that re-assuring. And kept on shaking.
"An extra blanket then?" he persisted.
"A small dose of the enzyme at this stage might remedy the situation and would serve as a tonic for vigour," suggested Jekyll.
"He can't!" exclaimed the Queen, coming forward to the right hand of his bed, pulling a long train of gathered dress in her arms. "With new strength, he will fight the mind control. It will fail." Her previous teasing had evaporated. She was deadly serious now. A true professional in her field. But a bit of a bitch too. Sheppard was cold but the warmth of dread suddenly glowed somewhere in the pit of his stomach at the reminder of the mind control that was also on Todd's must-do list.
He looked to Todd. To ask if him it were true.
"The enzyme must follow the aiolac," Todd agreed with just a hint of sympathy.
"Don't I get a say?"
"The less resistance, the less pain you will endure," said Todd bluntly.
"Right. I only needed that explaining." Suddenly freezing his butt off seemed the least of his worries.
"Are you prepared, John Sheppard?" and the Queen inched closer to the bed. Flexing her fingers, eager to be getting on with this.
Sheppard looked from the Queen, to Todd, back to the Queen again.
"What? Now?" And suddenly he wasn't very prepared at all. Suddenly it didn't seem like a very good idea at all. To offer himself up as a lamb to the slaughter. And he wanted to ask about his arm surgery-
"I said we have very little time!" said Todd, very ratty and very impatient with that raised voice of his booming, echoing round the chamber.
"I would prefer him to be kneeling. At my feet," complained the Queen, leering over Sheppard, drawing a hand through his hair, snarling a halitosis snarl.
His sense of self-preservation kicked in. That made Sheppard shift back. As far as he was able, pulling up his legs, clutching at the blanket even tighter – now he really could feel the glutinous stuff on the wall.
"Leave him! His position on the bed is sufficient." Todd seemed just as irritated with his Queen. She pouted, deprived of her extra thrill of sadism. It was like watching two rival siblings fighting over a shared toy.
"John Sheppard," his tone lowered, his voice almost kindly, "you were never forced into this."
"No?"
"Indeed, no. I know you have to trust me and my explanation explicitly-"
"No kidding."
"I know that you are riddled by doubt. But there is trust on my part also. I trust your ability to carry out this task against all the odds. Utterly. I know that I could ask no other to do this. Totally. With dedication."
Nice speech. And yeah, he was back in Todd's ball park, even if only kicking tentatively at the touch line.
"Flattery will get you everywhere," he said, and eased himself back down the bed. Todd huffed something resembling a sigh. And sat himself down wearily at the edge.
"I'd trust you a whole lot more if you told me why my arm was cut up."
"It is necessary part of the procedure and will soon heal." And Todd simply dismissed it with the slight wave of a hand. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't important. He wanted to get on with another of his speeches.
"Can you trust me if I tell you this. I repeat you are not compelled to do this. And that free will is never going to be taken away from you. The Queen here is going to follow my strictest instructions and I shall remain here to ensure she follows them. Word for word. She is to erase your memory."
Sheppard's stomach tightened again at that.
"But it will be impossible to infill the total lifetime of your new identity. We can input the barest essentials only. Basic details. Some of you will, therefore, remain. It would be impossible to eradicate fully. Your... 'erenos', our Wraith word, that does not directly translate, your 'essence' in life, your 'inherent nature' will inevitably resurface at some point. I hope we can do enough to deceive. The Queen will instruct your mind to adhere to a series of given tasks and you will know that one will follow the other, but the ultimate task, that of killing the Forfallen you will recognise by a certain trigger key word spoken only by me. You will be unaware that this code even exists until I have said it. This way the Forfallen will never see what it is you intend to do until the very second that it needs to be done. But it is that. Seconds only. There are only five Forfallen, but you must be swift in executing all five. Otherwise they will have time to realise our intention and your life will be forfeit because of the failure – they will show you no mercy. Does this help you? Does this assist you in trusting me, John Sheppard, that I have outlined matters thus? This will not work unless you trust me. For any mistrust will rise as an obstacle and will baulk our plans. It cannot be swept aside by mind control – and neither would we necessarily be desirous to do so otherwise too much of John Sheppard will also be erased. The... erenos of John Sheppard is required to carry out this task. It is a fine balance to achieve and maintain."
He listened. Without interrupting. And was reminded of Mission Impossible. If you care to accept the mission, this tape will self-destruct in two minutes... except this was going to be his memory.
"John Sheppard?" prompted Todd.
"This won't be permanent?" they'd said his face wouldn't be a permanent alteration but what about his mind?
"Once you commence your attack on the Forfallen, you will be John Sheppard once more. No one else can do this. The whole ruse is simply to get you close enough."
He nodded and swallowed hard. "I'm ready." And he glanced at that right hand of the Queen, wondering if it were humanly possible to ever be ready for a thing like that.
Todd stood. "He will not need to kneel," he repeated to the Queen, reprimanding her. The Queen looked stung and Sheppard wondered about the wisdom of upsetting the female like that... especially this particular female. It was bad enough having to trust Todd but the Queen too?
"Proceed," ordered Todd.
And Sheppard guessed that was a sign for him to lean forward, and he did so, throwing aside the blanket, resting his hands on his raised knees, trying to relax as much as possible, calming his breathing. Trying not to shake - he was so cold still. Trying to look at some space in the mists. Aware of the coat of Jekyll to his left. Feeling the motion of the Queen's hand to his right coming out of the semi-darkness. The touch of her fingers, scaly and dry. Surprised he was taking this in. He supposed that on those other occasions of being subjected to the aiolac, he'd had other concerns and had never noticed. Though now... though now... this might be his last memory of anything and that fact brought with it a kind of intensity-
The Queen hissed and the pain shot through. Hot. Hot. Hot. No where to turn to escape the heat. Impaled. A spit roast. Head thrown back to escape the knife blade of hot heat that seared down his spine. Spine arced. No way of escape. Clenched teeth to hold his scream. No way to breath. Impaled by a hand. Words crowding in on him. Driving out breath. Driving out thought.
'Do not remember.'
'Do not remember.'
'It's as if you never existed.'
Other words fused. Vision swirled with the words. Images tumbled, spiralled around him. Of towers, of stakes, of his team. Flying. Jets. Jumpers. Deserts. Mountains. Sea... father, family... childhood friends... his life... his life falling from him... his thought to snatch them, to claw at them... like at the surface of water… drowning... clutching at nothing... no substance... no viable hold...
'Trust me,' says Todd. 'Trust me to strip away everything that you hold dear.'
Breath was there but he could not take it or let in more.
More, more of the pain.
'Do not remember' words. Images he couldn't decipher. Words that made little sense. Words as down some gigantic whirlpool... nothing, nothing but excruciating pain.
His own hands... his own hands wanted to... want to... grab at her hair... pull on her shoulders... pull her down with him... stop... stop... please stop... please stop the pain...
'This has to kill you.'
...a memory there... catch it quick... lost his hold as on a cliff face... falling, falling away... she was forcing him away...
'This has to kill you.'
She was killing him... she was killing him... got it wrong... wrong to trust them... he was going to die... die... falling, falling, falling... into silence...
-oAo-