A/N -- thank you for all the reviews everyone! And, a side note, Rodney doesn't have his radio anymore. When he took off his vest, he took that off as well. I revised the last chapter to make that clear, something I forgot to do first time round. Sorry!

—HIDDEN RESOURCES—

PART SEVEN: DOCTOR GET-ME-THE-HELL-OUT-OF-HERE

"mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...."

The soft, white noise surrounding him was steady...and annoying. It intruded through his ears and into his brain, focusing itself on a spot just behind his right eyebrow until the dull throbbing sensation it created became too strong to ignore and finally woke him up.

"Oh for the love of...."

Rodney lifted his arm and draped it over his closed eyes, wondering if the fact that his entire body felt strangely heavy meant anything. As he woke further, though, the strange heaviness resolved itself into a dull ache, and, he realized dimly, he hurt. Not a stinging, knife wound kind of hurt, but more the constant imprecise pain one felt when they were sick or had overexerted themselves. Like the body had given up, too tired to move, too beleaguered to care.

He frowned, still not lifting the arm off of his face.

He didn't remember being sick. Last thing he remembered was....

Yellow light?

Like fireworks, flashes of memory burst inside his head, intensifying the headache. He remembered a force field, and he remembered trying to dismantle it. He remembered talking to Ford, standing nearby. He remembered Sheppard telling Ford to stick with him...and he remembered Sheppard talking to an older woman...the governor...Deucalion...about the Weapon...about the Wraith.....

And then the yellow light. The corridor shaking. Ford shouting to him....something grabbing hold of him....Had it been Ford?

"Not to sound trite," he whispered to the world, "but what the hell hit me?"

He paused, waiting for a response. When none came, he finally lifted the arm.

"Ford?" The eyes blinked open to a fuzzy but brightly lit world, "Lieutenant? Are you there?" With a grunt, he pushed up on one elbow, pinching his eyes shut again and rubbing them once with his free hand, before opening them again. This time, he could see clearly.

He instantly sat up the rest of the way with a sharp intake of breath. Pale blue eyes widened as his jaw dropped, taking in the room he was in without really understanding it.

"Oh God," he hissed, finding himself in a room so white that it was nearly blinding. "Hello?" he called, then, twisting to see more of the room, louder, "Hello! Anyone there? Lieutenant? Lieutenant!"

Only the humming answered him. He could hear his heart racing inside his ears as his fear kicked into full gear, his breathing on the verge of hyperventilation.

"Okay, okay," he said to himself, "okay, you can handle this. Calm down, calm down." He managed to shut his mouth, focusing on breathing through his nose to force himself to relax as he'd been taught. When he felt a little better, he levered himself up off the white floor and stood up, crossing his arms tightly over his chest as he turned in a small circle. The ache was leaving his body, but the headache persisted.

Finally really seeing the room he was in, the most absurd though crossed his mind, and he smiled, unable to stop himself.

"It's the fifth doctor's tardis," he chuckled, a hint of hysteria in the sound. "Someone's imitating the BBC's set design—that's got to be a copyright infringement." He shook his head and continued to smile, running a still shaky hand through his short hair before crossing his arms again. Truth be told, the absurd thought had gone a long way to calming him down, but the frown was soon back as he realized there was no visible doorway anywhere.

The room was white, pure white, and hexagonal in shape. It looked to be about the size of a good sized board room, complete with a white console in the center and a fairly impressive glass wall splitting the console in half and separating one half of the room from another.

No, he realized as he saw his reflection, not glass. A mirror. It literally stretched from wall to wall, interrupted only by the console sticking out of the center of it.

Unlatching his crossed arms, he tentatively took a few steps towards the console, eyeing the completely smooth surface—like white glass. Nothing about it gave any indication of what it did—for all he knew, it was just a table. Like the rest of the room, it was hexagonal, although, he realized, he was actually only seeing half of it. So, it was only hexagonal if, of course, the room on the other side of the mirror...if there was a room...was identical to this one. If not, then it was just a trapezoid.

Aw hell, he realized, mentally slapping himself, who cares what the shape is! How the hell do I get out of here?

Turning, he looked more carefully at the walls, looking for a doorway or a window, for some sort of way out. Large circular indentations of an off white color were placed in an even pattern over the three main walls, which was partly why Doctor Who had come to mind, and he reached into one to see what they were made of. They were about a handswidth in depth, but, other than being slightly warmer than the walls themselves, which looked to be marble or also some sort of colored glass, they appeared to hold no secrets.

Nevertheless, he checked all three main walls, remembering that Decualion was a city based on illusion. Unfortunately, he soon learned, the walls were as real as he was. He hit one with his fist in frustration, and turned around.

Sighing in acceptance, he headed over to the console in the mirrored wall with a grimace. His fingers played over the smooth surface, looking for buttons or invisible sensors that might trigger something. Surely it wasn't just a decorative counter—it had to be hiding something.

As he reached the central section of the console, he saw a red light flash beneath the white surface. Frowning, he passed his hand over it. It flashed red again.

"Hm," he frowned, "wonder what red means here? Stop? Go? Caution?" He snorted, "You've just leveled Detroit?"

His lips twitched into a weak smile at that as he continued to pass his hand over the console. As he did, more lights appeared to flash beneath its surface, but none that remained steady, as if they couldn't maintain their power. Nothing about this was familiar, and nothing about it made sense. Still, there was obviously a pattern and he just had to....Damn his head hurt.

"This is pointless," he groused, pressing a hand to his aching forehead and looking up at himself in the mirror in front of him. He frowned at the reflection, trying to figure out what looked wrong.

Realization hit with a hammer. "Oh Crap!" he shouted, his hand slapping at his blue shirt where the radio should be on his shoulder.

He didn't have his backpack! Or his vest, or even his jacket! All he had on him was the utility belt and the 9MM strapped to his thigh. In other words, all the tools he had was a knife, his scanner and a whole lot of nothing. Hell and damnation! His right hand rested on the 9MM—fat lot of good that would do here.

"Oh this just sucks!" he shouted furiously, slamming a hand down on the console. Had he been looking down, he would have seen a brown light brighten and hold steady under his hand. He looked up at the white ceiling, sloping up away from him like the roof of a conservatory, anger taking over from fear, "What the hell is this! Where am I!"

"Hello."

He nearly jumped a mile, spinning around, his eyes searching the walls. His breathing was rapid again, and his heart felt like a jackhammer in his chest. He hadn't even noticed that the 9MM was now in his hands, thumb depressing the safety, until he felt the latch click.

"Who said that!" he yelled, searching the small room for the source of the voice, trying to pinpoint its origin. The voice was that of a man's, very evenly pitched, and unrecognizable. "I repeat," he shouted, "who said that! Answer me!"

In response, something seemed to move out of the corner of his eye, and McKay looked to his right, gun already pointing in that direction. As he watched, the light shifted and shimmered, forming a figure out of thin air. It was a man, about McKay's height, with wavy brown hair, brown eyes and wearing...brown. The figure nodded to him and smiled pleasantly.

"Hello. You are most welcome, friend and hero."

"Friend and hero?" He didn't lower the gun, but his hands no longer shook. Part of him was surprised he could be so calm in the face of this apparition—it was obviously a hologram, but, for a moment, the doctor's irrational side had screamed "ghost!"

"Most definitely," the hologram nodded, still smiling beatifically. "What is your name, sir."

McKay's defensive mechanism kicked in. "My name is 'get me the hell out of here,'" he spat, adding nastily, "Why, what's yours? And if it isn't, "the exit's over there,' I don't want to know!"

There was a pause, then, quietly, the hologram responded, "That is not a real name."

"Wow, nothing gets by your programming, does it? Look, what is this? Why do you want to know? Why are you even here?"

The smile remained fixed on the face, "To help make your stay more pleasant, of course. I am here to serve you, sir, to answer your questions and prepare you for what is to come. It would help if I knew your name."

The doctor grimaced, finally lowering the 9MM and returning it to its holster. The bullets would just go straight through anyway. He swallowed and crossed his arms.

"Prepare me for what's to come, eh? Fine. Rodney...McKay...Doctor Rodney McKay...." He tripped over his name, not even sure why he felt the need to add that he was a doctor. Habit, mostly. "You're here to answer my questions?"

"Yes."

"Okay then—where the hell am I?"

The hologram's face showed confusion for a moment, then brightened, "In the white room."

McKay's eyes closed for a brief second, then opened again. "No," he smiled thinly, "I meant, where is the white room? Where is this place located?"

"Near the Central Courtyard."

"That still doesn't help me," McKay sighed, wiping a hand over his face. "Let's try again. What is this place?"

The hologram stared at him for a moment longer, then frowned. "Don't you know?"

"If I did," the doctor snarled, "would I be asking?"

The hologram looked down, then up again. The smile was gone. "My apologies, Doctor Rodney McKay, I did not understand. You are inside the Weapon."

McKay's breath caught for a second, then released. Of course. He'd already guessed that, but just hadn't wanted to believe it.

"The Weapon," he repeated softly, "With a capital 'W', right?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's just great," he exhaled heavily. "How did I get here?"

Another pause, then, "That is not a logical question."

McKay made a face, then snorted. "Seems logical to me. I don't know how I got here. You must know. So tell me."

"When you stepped through the doorway, your presence was detected, and you were brought here."

Again, McKay closed his eyes. Those Deucalion bastards. They had to have known. Sheppard was right—the governor had lied to them.

"Okay," blue eyes opened again, "Then how do I get out of here?"

The hologram really frowned this time, "What?"

"How do I get out? Where's the exit?"

The hologram continued to look confused, until, finally, it shook his head. "There is no way out."

McKay straightened, his arms slipping to his sides, "What?"

"Do you not understand where you are? You are in the Weapon."

"Sure. So?"

"So, Doctor Rodney McKay, surely you know--you are here to give up your life in order to save Deucalion."

The doctor fell back against the console, his hands gripping the edge of the smooth glass.

"I'm here to what?" he squeaked.

TBC