A/N I apologize for the delays this past week but getting over the flu has been a bit of a bugger and all I want to do is sleep. Thank you for all of the great reviews and encouraging notes. You really do make putting this together a lot more fun!

Oh, one more thing. A few of you commented on Beckett sleeping. I've tried to show some passage of time without looking at a watch. Between Sheppard launching himself off Atlantis and now, we've gone from approximately 9:00 pm (sunset) until 4:00 am.

Chapter 8: White Lightning

"You want me to do what?" Beckett glanced back and forth between the two men, trying to decide if they were really serious. When Sheppard pulled a blanket tighter about his shoulders and McKay leaned against the bulkhead without supplying any input, the doctor began to worry. They really were serious.

"Gentlemen, I don't know what you are thinkin', but I must tell you I don't have a lot of experience in gettin' people inebriated. Most of my work comes during the after effects."

"Doc, we're not asking you to take her out on a date," John interjected but stopped when Carson folded his arms and glared. "We just need to know how it might be possible to make an octopus drunk."

"Major, I don't recall that bein' a chapter my professors taught during my training. I can just picture my questioning of the astute Dr. Klinislip, "Excuse me, Doctor, when inebriatin' an octopus, do you suppose I should use 50 or 90 proof alcohol?" Carson turned to argue with McKay but stopped, recognizing the look on the scientists face. Rodney was formulating a plan.

He stood staring at a small hatch on the ceiling while mumbling to himself, his fingers typing out some unknown computer order on an imaginary keyboard. A sudden shift in thought turned his attention to the cargo bay and he stood staring at the go cart, finger tips now tapping against one another. Completely ignoring his now silent companions, he picked up his laptop and hooked it into the console. With a few moments of swift strokes to the keyboard, he was able to deactivate the now repaired inner shield.

"McKay?" Sheppard remained seated, wrapped in his blanket, watching the scientist begin to collect empty water bottles from the floor. "Care to let us in on what you're doing?"

Rodney stopped, eyed up the major, and then turned and handed the bottles to Beckett. "Here. Drain the fuel from gas tank into these. If any water did leak in, it will have settled on the bottom so make sure to collect from the top."

When Carson remained still holding the bottles, the scientist huffed, "What?"

"Well now, just how do you suppose I do that?"

Quickly scanning the interior of the sub, McKay's eyes came to rest on the rear cargo door. Removing the cover, he reached inside, carefully examining the contents. Apparently satisfied with whatever it was he was doing, he pulled out his pocketknife and cut a thin piece of black tubing type material approximately two feet long. Once removed from the panel, he blew through the tube, spraying a yellowish substance on to the floor. When the tube finally appeared to be empty, he handed it to the doctor. "Use this," he directed before beginning work on the overhead hatch.

Beckett held the tube like he was holding a snake. A quick glance over to Sheppard told him that the major was beginning to understand what the crazed scientist was up to.

"That's from the hydraulics of the door," John informed him. "Put one end in the tank and suck the air out until the fuel comes through."

"I know how a siphon works, Major," Beckett snapped. When Sheppard shifted in his seat to come and help him, the doctor stopped him with a glare. "You stay put before you fall over. McKay and I can do this." With set determination he unscrewed the cap, stuck in the hose, and drew the liquid out. The foul burning fluid brought tears to his eyes and made him choke. "Good lord, Rodney. What'd you make that out of?" he gasped.

McKay looked up distractedly from his laptop, before a grin broke out over his features at Carson's watering eyes. He shot a look over at Sheppard who was also waiting to see what he used, and shrugged innocently. "The pink peach fruit things that the Athosians brought back from the mainland."

"I thought they all went bad."

"Well, not bad exactly. I discovered that they had an extremely high sugar content and fermented easily."

Sheppard grinned. "You figured, you might as well put them through the still. How strong is the alcohol content?"

McKay's eyes twinkled with mischief, "I never really tested it but I did drink a taste and I'm surprised Carson's still standing."

The major slapped his hand over his mouth to stop his laughter while watching Carson sink to his butt on the floor. The Scottish doctor appeared a bit flushed.

"Rodney McKay," Beckett slurred angrily, "you never said anything about a still."

Rodney made his way back over to Beckett and took the remaining bottle from the physician's hands before it got spilled. Once a lid was twisted securely on, he reached out his hand and helped Carson stand. "I didn't get hurt, merely incapacitated for a bit. Nothing to worry about though, it wears off relatively quickly."

Once the physician was settled in the chair opposite the major, McKay returned to his project. Opening the hatch on the ceiling, he examined the contents and then swore under his breath.

"What's wrong, McKay?"

"According to the schematics, this should be an exterior access panel…but it's not!" Slamming the panel shut, he folded his arms and began pacing in frustration. "How am I going to get the alcohol into that thing if I can't reach it?"

"Pildge bump," Beckett hiccupped.

Sheppard and McKay stared at Carson a moment, watching his eyes close in sleep, before they both realized the man meant to say 'bilge pump'.

"How long were you out, McKay, when you drank some of that moonshine of yours?"

Rodney rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he calculated. "Couple hours…I think."

The major scrubbed his face with his blanketed hands, blinking tiredly. "Do you think you can take care of the pumps without his assistance? Because I have to be honest with you, I feel like crap and I don't think I'm going to be much help."

Rodney glanced over at Carson and then back to Sheppard. "Not a problem. When you wake up, I'll have us back on Atlantis before Weir even notices that we left."

SG:A

Once again the soft sound of snoring permeated the silence inside the 'McKay.'

Rodney began moving items around so that he could access the bilge pumps underneath the floor grate in the rear section. He'd discovered that the cart took up too much room and he was only able to shove it half way off the access panel. Propping the heavy grate partially open with a tire he'd removed from the cart, he squeezed his upper torso down below the floor, working his way tightly into the small space.

He was able to locate the small pump and tested the automatic sensor by pouring a small amount of regular bottled water over it. The device kicked on perfectly, removing all moisture from the floor. Rodney was impressed. If he could take this back to Earth he would make a small fortune. He'd never seen a bilge work so efficiently.

Reaching blindly back behind himself, he felt around the floor locating the bottles that Beckett had filled, and brought them into the enclosed space one at a time. "I hope you're a nice drunk," he mumbled, before holding his breath, and began to pour. Seconds later the pumps automatically kicked on and flushed the alcohol out of the ship.

The creature's reaction was almost immediate. The 'McKay' listed violently to one side, shifting the cart hard on to the propped open grate. The tire holding it open slipped and the heavy grate slammed down upon Rodney's vulnerable lower back. His cry of agony was muffled by his awkward position.

Gasping for breath, he used his forearms to push up and hopefully dislodge the cart. Pain ripped across his chest as well as his back and legs. Darkness began to encroach on the edge of his vision from the lack of oxygen because his pinned chest prevented his lungs from filling.

His hands flopped uselessly onto the floor of the crawl space as his body gave in to the horrific throbbing and he blacked out, never feeling the trickle of cold water upon his fingers.

TBC

A/N Cliffy? Oh yeah, but it's not my fault!!! OXBastetXO gave me the idea, blame her!