Whatever it was, though, it didn't seem to be responding to him. Which wasn't just unusual—it was all but insane. After a few minutes of effort, during which Teyla went back outside to ask the other scientists to please come back later, Sheppard gave it up for a lost cause. "Hey, Rodney."

"Yeah?" Rodney looked up momentarily from his scanner; judging by his expression, it wasn't being terribly cooperative. "What is it?"

"This, um—" John gestured expansively—"magic gene I've got . . . it's supposed to work on everything, right? All the Ancient technology, I mean."

Rodney nodded emphatically. "All of it."

"There a problem, sir?" Ford asked.

"Yeah, Lieutenant, you could say that." John grimaced. "You were right—there's some kinda compartment hidden in here somewhere. But I can't open it."

"That's impossible." Rodney's eyes widened. "There's been no evidence that the applicability of the ATA gene is in any way selective—"

"Well, now there is," John snapped impatiently. "You've got the gene too, right? Try it yourself."

Rodney concentrated for a few seconds. "Oh. Shit."

"Maybe—" Ford began.

Teyla interrupted him from the doorway. "The scientists are becoming quite upset. They refused to believe that Dr. Weir had sent us here to replace them, even when I radioed her for confirmation, and they are demanding to be allowed to examine the room."

"Dammit." John reached for his radio, then let his hand fall again. "Ideas, anyone?"

A small, wicked smile flickered across Ford's lips. "Tell them we think there's a bomb in here and opening the door might've triggered the timer."

"Do you actually think that?" she asked, startled.

"Not exactly." Rodney shrugged. "But something's in here, and it's probably hidden for a good reason."

"More importantly," John corrected hastily, "it'll get them out of our way."

"I will tell them," Teyla agreed, and disappeared back into the corridor.

Rodney looked around again. "Were you saying something, Ford?"

"Well . . ." He hesitated. "I don't know much about the way the ATA gene works. But I was thinking that, if you and Major Sheppard both concentrated at the same time—"

"The combined effort might be enough to open the compartment?" Rodney finished, nodding slowly.

"My thought exactly."

"Makes sense, I guess," John agreed. "Count of three then. One, two—"

Both men closed their eyes tightly, focusing. After almost a minute had passed, a rasping noise sounded briefly, and a dark crack opened in the floor near a rear corner of the room. At the same instant, a grimace passed across John's face, and Rodney actually gasped out loud. A moment later, the two opened their eyes and immediately turned to face each other.

"That hurt," John accused.

"Not my fault," Rodney retorted. "I have no idea why that happened."

John raised his hands in surrender. "I'm not blaming you. I'm just saying—that hurt."

"Yeah. I noticed."

Teyla chose that moment to come back, thankfully forestalling the argument that would no doubt have ensued even though the two were in agreement. "The scientists doubt, quite rightly, that there is any chance that this room contains a bomb."

"They're still here?" John groaned.

"I told them that Doctor Weir wished them to report to her personally. With luck, I was right." She glanced curiously between the faces of her teammates. "Has something transpired in my absence?"

Rodney explained it to her.

Meanwhile, Ford dropped to his knees next to the hole in the floor, which was only a few inches wide but nearly a foot long.. "Whatever's in here, it's musty as hell." He sneezed violently from the dust that had been stirred up, and then hooked his fingers around the edge of the crack and pulled. "This isn't budging."

The other three walked over to peer over his shoulder, and Rodney bent down to brush away more dust. "It doesn't seem like the aperture can open any further. If the cover is supposed to retract more than this, I don't see the space into which it would move."

"Of course," John pointed out, "when we looked around the first time, we couldn't even tell that this was here."

Rodney heaved an exasperated sigh. "Do you want to try moving this again, or what?"

John tried. A split second later, he sat down hard, clutching his head. "Okay . . ." He moaned softly. "Bad idea."

Rodney whirled around. "Are you all right?" he and Teyla asked in unison.

"Yeah." John glared at him. "No thanks to you."

"How was I supposed to know you'd take me seriously?"

"Um, sir?" Ford interjected. "We should probably check to see what's inside."

The other two men were still glowering at each other—John's glare lessened by pain, Rodney's by worry—so Teyla answered instead. "I will look. My hands are smallest, and it will be easiest for me to reach in if necessary." She unclipped a small flashlight from her belt, switched it on, and pointed it into the crack, examining the interior as best she could.

"Well?" Having come to some sort of unspoken resolution with John, Rodney was now peering anxiously over her shoulder. "Is there anything in there?"

"Be patient." Teyla reached into the opening with her free hand, fished around for a second, and withdrew it again. "As far as I can see, there is only this."

Rodney held his hand out, and she passed the object to him. It was dark gray metal, in a sort of curved T-shape.

"It looks like a sword handle," Ford said suddenly. "You know—you hold the longest part, and the two shorter parts protect your fingers."

"But there's no blade," Rodney objected, even as he shifted his grip accordingly. "What's the point of just having a handle by itself?" As he spoke, something seemed to flicker for a moment in the air in front of him, and he flinched. "Whoa. What was that?"

"The blade, of course." John stood up, extending a hand, and Rodney tossed the handle to him. He smiled faintly and grasped it more securely. This, at least, worked properly; almost instantly, a long sword blade sprang from the formerly bare hilt. It was darker yet than the handle—nearly black—and shimmered slightly. "Man, I've always wanted one of these." He stepped backwards a few paces and took an experimental swing or two.

Rodney could only stare, open-mouthed. "Did I ever tell you how much I hate you?"

"Often," said John distractedly. He was staring at the sword as if entranced.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm gonna hurt the Atlantis writers so badly. Poor Elizabeth's stuck at gunpoint until January.

Plus, I watched Darklight the other night, and it was a pretty cool movie, but I'm scared of David Hewlitt now. whimper I feel like I need to write a scary-Rodney scene. (Actually, that could be fun.)

I'm retracting the original bonus question, because anyone who finds the answer also gets a big chunk of plot spoiled. I'll try to come up with a better one.