Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis is in no way, shape, or form mine, nor do I make any profit from the following story. It is a work of fan fiction necessitated by the three-plus month hiatus between the first 10 episodes and the remainder of the first season!

Ghosts of Prague

By Kerr Avon

7. If This Be Madness...

"You did not return!" the robot howled. "You promised to return!!!" A massive fist struck the ground beside Sheppard's head as he rolled deftly out range, M-90 skittering across the floor. The design he'd noticed earlier in the center of the android's forehead now glowed a brilliant orange.

"Look, I don't know who you think I am, but I've never met you before in my life." He ducked a roundhouse that flew over his head.

"Your people!" it screamed in clarification, still swinging wildly. "Abandoned! Alone!!!" Each word was punctuated by a blow, coming faster and faster. The floor and random mechanical devices were taking the brunt of the pounding, but Sheppard knew it was only a matter of time before one would connect. His eyes darted about until he located his weapon. "My Creators...YOU...gave me a purpose! I was made to serve."

"Hey, can we talk about this? I'm OK with being served." He winced. That hadn't really come out right. If this kept up he would be served - on a platter.

Sheppard had already had a trying day and fatigue clouded his reflexes, slowing his response time. He actually felt the breeze from the last strike brush past his cheek. Backing away towards the M-90, he tried to distance himself from the raving creature.

"You left. You all left me alone." 'All right, this was getting repetitive...'

The being had begun to lash out with its legs as well, giving the Major four limbs to keep track of and dodge, while at the same time moving towards his objective. "My function is to repair and renew. Without you, there is no function!" Sheppard's luck finally ran out as he tripped over some metallic fragments that had been ripped from the nearest control panel and plummeted backwards. He scrambled away crab-like as the monster continued its rant.

"I slept. Once every hundred years I awoke to see if you had returned as promised. I awoke to darkness!" The floor was being dented by the impact of the android's fury and bits of machinery flew in all directions. Sheppard finally regained his feet, but was having to duck the detritus.

"No purpose! Alone!!" At last a punch scraped his shoulder, and Sheppard's world exploded into a nebula of pain. He blinked, disoriented, but managed to twist away before the next one could connect fully. A jagged edge of metal caught his thigh, ripping both cloth and flesh, but he ignored it in his need to escape. He was likewise oblivious to the small rivulet of blood that began trailing towards the floor as he rolled away once again.

Panting, Sheppard at last managed to put some distance between himself and the creature and retrieved his weapon. "All right....if that's the way...you want it!" Bringing his weapon up, he fired point blank into the android's chest.

Unfortunately, the bullets had no effect on the rampaging mechanoid, and the glowing orange design on its forehead began to pulse. "You people went away! You abandoned me!" it roared. It finally managed to get grip on the hapless human and sling him across the room into a console, which exploded in a shower of sparks. John's momentum kept him moving across the machine's top, falling into a semiconscious heap on the far side. Groaning, he was only peripherally aware of the iron-clad grasp that picked him up like a rag doll to bash him into another piece of equipment. "ALONE!!!" it screamed. There was only one conclusion John could reach while he could still reason at all; the robot was completely, utterly mad.

As the beating continued in macabre time to the android's rant, Sheppard became aware of another voice shouting as well. Concentrating on this alternate input, John's pain-fogged mind finally recognized the voice of the Czech physicist. 'Zelenka?' he marveled.

"Zelenka!" 'He has to leave before the robot notices him, too.' "Go! Get out!"

All thought was temporarily vanquished by another explosion of pain. As the sharp spikes receded somewhat, he heard Zelenka still shouting in the distance. 'The fool! Why is he still here?' John was incredulous. 'Wait...what is he saying?'

Zelenka had been roused by the crashing and pounding as the outer chamber was demolished. Struggling off of his cot, he grabbed his makeshift crutch and hobbled to the door. The sight that met his astonished eyes was one from his worst nightmares. A huge artificial creature was beating the crap out of Major Sheppard. He pushed messy brown hair out of his eyes, adjusting his glasses in the process. Yes, it seemed to be a ten or twelve foot tall robot, and it was quite...unhappy. The most striking feature was the glowing orange pattern on its forehead. 'Wait a moment...' He readjusted his glasses once again. 'Is that Ancient writing?'

He squinted to get a better view of the radiant letters. 'Aleph...kah...dorse...fay...That's Ancient for 'Life'!' His eyes widened. 'No...it couldn't be...' Still, so many stories and legends were found to be real...He watched in dismay as Sheppard retrieved his gun and unloaded a clip into the Creature's chest with no effect. 'Anything's worth a try...'

He watched aghast as the artificial being flung the pilot across the room. "Major! It's forehead! Rub the Aleph!" Sheppard appeared not to hear him, and shouted for Zelenka to leave. Shaking his head he repeated, "Major! Touch its forehead. The left part of the design!!!!"

At last he seemed to get through to the battered, semiconscious man. As the raving android picked up his now only weakly-struggling body, Sheppard concentrated with all his might, raising a trembling finger to the glowing symbols. Shifting his gaze as the robot tightened its grip, he touched the Ancient letter furthest to the left and pressed. As if flipping a switch, the mark winked out, leaving only the remaining three alight. The automaton's eyes widened briefly, then closed, as its whole form went immobile. Uncomprehending, Sheppard stared for a moment, then gave in to the darkness crowding his vision and knew no more.

Zelenka's jaw hung slack. He had just seen a reenactment of Rabbi Loew's story in a burnt out basement lab in another galaxy from his Prague home. Closing his eyes, he shook his head, then grabbed his crutch and hobbled over to the immobile pair. He prayed that Sheppard had fared better than his predecessor of legend.

Frighteningly, the Major hung limp and motionless in the petrified hands of the robot. His left eye was almost swollen shut and his face was a mass of abrasions and contusions. His right arm hung at an angle that announced 'I'm dislocated' to the universe, and his breath came in shallow pants. Blood dripped rhythmically onto the floor from the toe of his left boot; Zelenka's eyes followed the rivulet up to where it originated at a large gash on the Major's thigh. His whole body was covered in the sweat that also soaked the front of his uniform.

The slight scientist leaned his crutch against the nearest console, then balanced on his good leg as he worked at freeing the Major. When he finally found the release mechanism in the android's wrist, he was unprepared for the sudden weight and, unable to maintain his balance, tumbled to the ground with Sheppard in tow. Agony blossomed up from his fractured leg, forcing him to pause a moment to quell the nausea it engendered. It took a few minutes until he was able to move without fainting, then the Czech attempted to assess the pilot's injuries.

"Concussion certainly, dislocated shoulder, thigh laceration that's going to need stitches, several broken ribs..." he muttered to himself. He placed an ear against first Sheppard's right chest, then the left. "I don't think he's dropped a lung." He glanced longingly back at their sleep cubicle. 'There's no way I can drag him back there with my leg like this, but he'd be better off in a bed."

Steeling his resolve, Zelenka pivoted himself into a standing position again, then retrieved his crutch. It took several trips, but he eventually had all their gear, the blankets, and a container of fresh water on the flooring next to the comatose man. Carefully cleaning the wounds, he found that none were life-threatening, although several would probably require sutures. He managed an adequate pressure-dressing on the Major's thigh, then tried unsuccessfully to pull his shoulder back into its socket. Unfortunately, he couldn't get the proper leverage due to his own injury and finally settled for fabricating a sling to immobilize it. At length he was satisfied with his first aid attempts, and sat back with a sigh. Leaning against the table, he carefully stretched out his own leg and decided to 'rest his eyes' for a minute. He would worry about how they would get to the infirmary tomorrow.

TBC....

AN: So, how was that? I must admit that I feel better with it out of my system...