CHAPTER EIGHT: IN THE STILL OF THE NIGHT

Rodney caught Ford's report over his own radio, and turned astonished eyes toward Sheppard in time to see the chair change.

The different neck rest served a purpose he'd never expected. Prongs rose up out of the device and pierced the flesh at the base of the major's neck, just behind his ears.

Sheppard made a soft sound in the back of his throat, and for half a breath, Rodney thought he was choking. His eyes were wide, unfocused and contained nothing of the man that McKay had worked so closely with over the past months.

A wide metal band had clamped around his wrists, trapping his arms in place. But his hands beneath the bands twitched, out of control. Rodney, scared witless, had absolutely no idea how to respond to the situation.

"Major!" He yelled, uncaring that he'd probably nearly deafened everyone who had their radios keyed on. Abandoning his lap top, he ran across the room, searching for a way to release his friend.

Voices continued over the radio, but he didn't have time to deal with them. Ford was handling matters there. He circled the chair, searching for the panel near the floor which had contained some of the circuitry on the Antarctica chair.

Things seemed to be getting worse for Sheppard. The horrible choking sounds were getting weaker, and where initially only his hands had shook, the convulsion was spreading to the rest of his body.

Finally finding the panel, he dove down toward it, intending to do the equivalent of puling the chair's breaker. As he came within inches of the platform, a sharp bite of electricity arced off of an invisible surface, painfully repelling his hand.

"Oww! Dammit!" He cried out at the unexpected jolt and cradled his tingling fingers in his good hand as he tried to get his brain to work. He had to think, and fast, if he was going to save his friend.

Loathe to leave Sheppard alone near the chair, he ran back to the only option remaining – the console. Spinning the lap top, he punched rapidly at the keys, noting the way the system was rapidly process . . . . something. He didn't care what it was, he just wanted to stop it. Blue was beginning to edge in on John's too pale features.

He quickly sifted through some of the systems that he'd been able to access, quickly tossing them aside as not useful to his endeavor. Panic threatened to close in on him as the seconds ticked by. And then it was no longer up to him.

His fingers froze over the keys as utter silence fell. He looked across the room at his still friend. There was a loud clink as the bands and probes retracted like quicksilver. John's eyes slid closed and he slumped bonelessly in the chair.

Rodney barely registered the arrival of first Henry and Erikson followed by Ford and Teyla. He only knew that somehow he had gotten the major to the floor and away from the chair.

A thin spot of blood sat in the center of pressure marks where the probes had gone in. Henry was leaning over Sheppard from the opposite side, asking questions, going through the ABC's of first aid. Sheppard failed in the breathing department.

Rodney stood alongside Ford and Teyla as they looked on, lost in their own private fears while Henry managed to get the major's respiratory system going again.

The trip back to the jumper was a blur of nightmarish proportions, tainted with the fear that the major's shallow breathing would again stop altogether. Stackhouse and Markham had literally run from the jumper, meeting them at the halfway point with the extended medical kit that Beckett had just that morning insisted be added to every jumper mission. It was complete with ambu-bag and oxygen, if needed.

One positive out of Sheppard nearly suffocating inside of a jumper right on Atlantis. If he wasn't so scared, Rodney might have been able to appreciate the irony that the man who'd caused the rule to go into effect was also the first one to have need of the additional supplies.

Sgt Markham was the pilot of record when Jumper One landed in the shuttle bay, a medical team ready, once again, to pick up a new patient.

"What happened?" Elizabeth asked, as she waited outside of the sick bay with the rest of the team for Beckett's diagnosis.

"The chair – we thought it was a weapons platform," Rodney explained. His voice squeaked, and the panic was still evident in his eyes. "I was working on the database, Ford and Teyla were looking around, Henry and Erikson were checking out the chamber. Major Sheppard said that he was going to try the chair."

"That's not entirely unusual," Elizabeth told him. "Major Sheppard was always the most adept at using the chair in Antarctica."

"But you don't understand," Rodney replied. "This chair was different. It changed – his hands were held down by metal bands and probes went into the back of his head. He was choking I think, and then convulsing, and then he just collapsed."

"Do you have any idea what the chair was doing to him?" Elizabeth asked, though she knew Rodney would have already communicated everything to Dr. Henry, who would then have passed it on to Carson.

Rodney put his head into his hands and blew out a breath before looking back upward, though his eyes never quite met hers. "No. I don't know. I tried to shut it down but it shocked me." He absently rubbed at the fingers of one hand.

"Do you need to have it checked out?" She asked, growing more worried for the scientist.

He waved the idea off with an uncharacteristic, "No. It's fine."

"Rodney, this isn't your fault," she tried to reassure him.

"Knowing the sort of defenses that base has, I should have checked the chair out first," Rodney argued, not ready to let himself off the hook just yet.

Elizabeth had no chance to respond as Carson appeared. All eyes focused on the medical doctor.

"He's stabilized," he announced as breaths of relief sounded around the small room. "He's being prepped for a CT Scan and several other tests as well. I'll let you know more when I know. The best all of you can do right now is go about your business and not clutter up my waiting room. This could take a while."

Elizabeth watched the group shift uncomfortably. Clearly none of them wanted to leave. She gave them a little push, deciding to lead by example.

"I'm sure Dr Beckett will do as he's promised and contact us with any updates," she said, starting for the door.

"That I will," Beckett agreed. "I'll put out the bulletin myself."

Everyone broke up then, filing out of the room one after the other. Carson called Elizabeth and Rodney back.

"I have the results of the test we were discussing last evening."

Rodney perked up at the information. "And . . . ," he prompted when the Scot hesitated.

Beckett sighed. "He doesn't have the gene – this is true, but I don't think it's a natural condition."

Rodney latched on to the statement. "What do you mean you don't think it's natural? Has he been altered in some way?"

"I believe he has," Beckett confirmed. "Very sophisticated it was, too. And now, I must get back to my other patient."

Rodney pored over the data he'd managed to get from the outpost's computer banks, searching for anything that might be used to help them understand what had happened to Sheppard. Hours and hours and hours had passed and still John hadn't awakened.

Rodney had spent much of that time in the chair at his bedside, lap top propped on his knees, continuing to search. The day had worked its way into evening and night and still Sheppard remained in the bed, still as death.

Teyla and Aiden had been by as had many of Sheppard's other friends. Through it all Rodney had remained a silent presence, working to find a solution that might give the medical experts a direction to go in.

The anomalous activity in certain parts of John's brain were evidence in Rodney's mind that whatever had taken place had to do with the way the facility had imprinted on him. No physical brain damage had been found, however, not even where the prongs had gone in. There was nothing to explain the ominous coma score of 5 – only reacting to pain.

Unfortunately, the data he'd gathered didn't seem to have much to do with the chair. It was all rather strange the way the information was laid out. It was nothing like any other Ancient database he'd ever dealt with. There wasn't even so much as a reference to the chair itself. He could only conclude that they called it something else in this particular database. But what?

He rubbed tired eyes as another line of Ancient text rolled across the screen. It blurred ever so slightly, morphing into something that strongly resembled a Jr. High School hieroglyphics project.

He squeezed his lids shut in an attempt to clear the gritty feeling. The line refocused, but soon his vision softened and his mind wandered. If he just closed his eyes, only for a moment . . . .

The infirmary was so quiet, the lights dim in observance of night hours. The silent motion of the water bubbling in the clear transducers seemed the only movement. Even Shelly, the night nurse, was missing, gone on some brief personal errand, no doubt.

The stillness began to feel unsettling and Rodney cautiously scanned the curtained area. A chill ran the length of his spine as a suspicion grew. Something wasn't right. Someone was on the other side of the privacy curtain, watching, waiting with a cold intent in their heart.

Rodney found himself moving toward the curtain, his pulse pounding in his throat. The only weapon he could find was the laptop's power supply. He hoped it wouldn't come that. As he moved forward, the distance seemed to stretch. Sweat broke out on his brow as he reached out a hand and pulled the curtain aside.

Almost immediately, something rushed him, overtaking him both on a physical and mental level. Everything in the room shifted as he went down. Lost in the cold.