Elizabeth Weir was a fairly handsome woman, with dark hair and a pale complexion that normally John Sheppard would go for. The look she threw his direction when Lorne and his team dragged Sheppard into the control room, however, was ugly and definitely out of character.

"Colonel Sheppard," she said, her voice hard but definitely her own. Which ruled out some kind of Goa'uld takeover – which John hadn't really thought was the case anyways. "How kind of you to return home."

The men supporting him released him, and his leg – which had long before gone numb – simply wouldn't support his weight, causing him to drop to the floor. Which jolted his bruised chest and left him gasping. Weir didn't give him a chance to reply. Which was just as well, since he couldn't have at that moment, anyways.

"Where's Rodney?"

"Who?"

It was pretty much a whisper, but her expression darkened making it plain that she'd heard him just fine.

"Wrong answer, Colonel," she said, and kicked him, hard, right in the chest. And right where he'd been struck by the bullet McKay had seen drop him. It was agonizing, but he clamped down on the yelp, allowing only a grunt of pain to escape – and only because he couldn't stop it. "Where's Rodney?"

"I left him back on the planet…"

This was even less audible than the last response, but again it was obvious she'd heard him. She kicked him again, and this time he had more trouble biting back the pain.

"I don't believe you, John…"

He rolled over, looking up at her and clutching his chest – grateful he was wearing his Kevlar vest. Otherwise he'd probably have passed out.

"Would I lie to you?"

Her eyes narrowed.

"Major Lorne…?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"I want to know where Doctor McKay is. Convince the Colonel here to tell us, will you?"

Lorne nodded.

"Yes, ma'am."

Well, crap.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sergeant Pascal Sanchez was very good at evasion. Extremely good at it, really. Out of high school he'd joined the Marine Corp and after graduating from boot camp, he'd immediately applied for Force Recon training. This was an elite group, however, and there were far more applicants than there were spaces. Competition was fierce, and the bar was set almost impossibly high. Only the best were accepted. And Sanchez had proven from day one that he was as good – and better – than most.

They'd been given several missions in South America. He went because he was small, spoke Spanish fluently, and was an expert at guerilla tactics. So good, in fact, that he earned a promotion to squad leader – which also gave him another stripe – and a chance to really show his stuff. He proved that he could hide from anyone, anywhere and with an uncanny ability to know someone was coming and duck out of sight. Which earned him a nickname that would pretty much follow him over the course of the next few years – and into the Stargate program.

And now here he was, he thought to himself as he watched a small group of heavily armed men head down the corridor towards the tiny alcove he had ducked into. In the middle of an alien city – which was at least temporarily home – hiding from his own people and getting ready to lure them into a trap.

A very good trap that had already worked twice. He'd get the patrol to follow him – and one of the guys in the last group had actually shot at him – and lead them directly into the arms of Ronan and the others, who were quick to zat them all into unconsciousness and disarm them and tie them up so they couldn't report. Already they had eight men out, and another four on the way, as far as Duck was concerned.

He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then released it as he judged the men were close enough to see him but at an odd enough angle they – probably – wouldn't shoot at him. Then he broke cover and headed down the corridor at a carefully gauged trot.

And heard yelling from behind him that plainly said he'd been seen.

OOOOOOOOOOO

"What have you found out?"

"I just started looking."

"What did the results tell you?"

Carson Beckett scowled, and looked over at Melony for help.

She caught the look, and walked over.

"Rodney, what are you doing?"

McKay shook his head.

"Nothing. Just asking for an update."

"We've been looking at it for a grand total of two minutes," Shea said, not as patient with McKay as Carson was. She wasn't as used to him, after all. "We're not ready to give you an update."

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Melony asked. She did have a room filled with scientists, after all.

Beckett shook his head.

"Just keep Rodney away."

They were brilliant, but they weren't medical doctors and medical researchers – and that was what Carson needed just then. Shea was the only help he could use, and only because she knew what she was doing.

McKay frowned.

"Hey, I'll have you know that I-"

"Rodney," Mitchell interrupted. "Why don't you come over here and give me a hand?"

She led him over to where the others were standing – aside from Ford, who was setting up a perimeter guard with the few military types he had.

"What are you doing?" McKay asked.

The group was studying a panel, and Zelenka was tapping away at a control keyboard he'd attached to it.

"We're trying to tap into the control room," Grodin answered. "We think that's probably where they'll take Sheppard."

"If he's alive," McKay said.

"If he's alive," Melony said. "They'll probably take him there."

Grodin nodded his agreement.

"We're trying to rig something through the security cameras so we can see what's going on there. If nothing else, it'll tell us how far out of hand the situation has gotten…"

"We could go in through the Beta section of the Ancient mainframe," Rodney suggested, with the confidence that comes with knowing you're the smartest person in the room. "I doubt anyone would be checking it – I'm not even sure Elizabeth knows how to get into that partition."

Zelenka nodded – as did Grodin, Kavanaugh and Mitchell.

"That's what I'm doing."

"Oh."

Well… he was still the smartest in the room.